


Across the Narrow Sea

by diesis, Meriwyn, SeeThemFlying, SunshineFromMyHeart, TeaandBanjo



Series: The Narrow Sea [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post season 8 fix it fic sorta, Round Robin Fic in Progress, Story isn't finished so tags will be added as needed, spoilers for the tv series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-07-09 00:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 78,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19878841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diesis/pseuds/diesis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meriwyn/pseuds/Meriwyn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeThemFlying/pseuds/SeeThemFlying, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunshineFromMyHeart/pseuds/SunshineFromMyHeart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaandBanjo/pseuds/TeaandBanjo
Summary: Round Robin Fic Prompt:Tyrion's STUPID plan succeeded and Jaime/Cersei are living as commoners in Pentos.Cersei is, of course, miserable and making Jaime's life miserable, too, while he's daydreaming about Brienne until, like Viserys, Cersei sells him to a rich high born lady for an army.The rich high born lady turns out to be Brienne.





	1. Brienne I

**Author's Note:**

> As the tags say, this is a Round Robin Story In Progress that's first published on the [ Jaime/Brienne subreddit. ](https://www.reddit.com/r/jaimebrienne/comments/cdssry/fic_round_robinprompt_lets_play/) More details about the prompt are available at this link.
> 
> If anyone would like to call dibs for a chapter, please drop a comment on the reddit thread and the chapter gets posted there first. Once posted, I'll add the chapter to this fic and add you as a co-creator. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Clearance_Unicorn, who unfortunately does not have an AO3 account.

Brienne of Tarth, Lady of Storm’s End and Warden of the East, glared at Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King and Lord of Casterly Rock. It was her best glare, with a hint of glower, and it had never failed to reduce Podrick to a quivering mess.

Tyrion was, apparently, made of sterner stuff, because he met her furious scowl with a sunny smile. “I’m afraid it’s a royal command.”

“Is it,” Brienne said, not even trying to keep her suspicion out of her tone. _The Hand’s command, more like. As if King Brandon concerns himself with the marriages of his Lords and Ladies._

“You are an important person, Ser Brienne. You hold one great castle and you are heir to Tarth. You are young enough to bear heirs of your own, but to do that, you must find yourself a husband.”

Brienne folded her arms. “And how do you suggest I do that? Because I refuse, I utterly refuse, to be paraded around court functions to be made a mock of –”

“No, no, no, nothing like that.” Tyrion picked up a sheaf of parchments in front of him. “In fact, I have taken the liberty of selecting some candidates. There is –”

Brienne erupted to her feet. “You have _what_?”

“Selected some candidates for you to consider. All are healthy, willing to marry, and have a lineage worthy of your own.” He set the parchments down again and looked up at her. “Really, Ser Brienne. You can’t pretend to me that having a qualified man to assist you in managing your many responsibilities wouldn’t be welcome.”

“I can hire someone for that.”

“But not for … other husbandly duties.”

“I have no interest,” Brienne said stiffly. It was true, as far as it went – the idea of any man but Jaime kissing her, holding her, stirred her not at all. _And he didn’t love me. Oh, perhaps he was fond, a little … but he didn’t love me, not as I loved him._

“You have a duty to your people to provide an heir.”

Brienne sighed and sat down again. Tyrion was right: she had a duty to provide an heir. _I suppose I can tolerate another man in my bed once or twice._ “Very well. Who are these candidates?”

“Well, first we have Gregor Connington –”

“No,” Brienne said instantly. “No Conningtons.”

“No Conningtons, noted. Loreon Banefort, then. He’s the second son of Lord Quenten, well-educated, well-spoken, I’m told fair to look on. And at fifteen, he’s old enough to wed –”

“No!” Brienne shook her head emphatically. “No fifteen-year-olds. No-one … no-one younger than Podrick.”

Tyrion frowned thoughtfully, and set three more sheets of parchment aside. “Ser Theo Bolling. He, ah … well, I’m sure he’d _learn_ to be a lord.”

Brienne shook her head again. “No. I’ve no interest in giving up my solitude to wet-nurse some untrained fellow while he struggles to come to grips with managing my lands.”

Tyrion set that page aside as well, and picked up the next – the last. “Well, that leaves … this may seem unconventional, but hear me out. There is a knight – raised and educated to be his father’s heir, but the family has fallen on hard times. They’re from Westeros, but currently reside in Pentos.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes. “So by _hard times_ you mean, exiled for treason.”

“Yes … and no. Let’s just say, it’s been better for them to live in Pentos these past few years. But this particular man did nothing truly dishonourable. I would never suggest a dishonourable man to _you_ , Ser Brienne.”

“But he’s your last suggestion,” Brienne said. “What’s wrong with him, if he isn’t dishonourable, to make him worse than some fifteen-year-old boy?”

“He doesn’t bring any holdings or money to the match.”

“I have enough of my own.”

“He suffered an injury, some years ago. A maiming. Most women would not want such a man –”

“I am not most women,” Brienne snapped. _How can he think that of me? He surely knows what Jaime was to me. Seven hells, the whole of the Seven Kingdoms knows I was the Kingslayer’s whore._ “I don’t care if he has only one leg, or no legs at all, so long as he is clever enough to be helpful and able to do his duty as a husband.”

“He is that,” Tyrion said quickly. “Educated, experienced, and I believe kind of heart. But … there is another problem. His family proposes him as a match in exchange for a force from the Stormlands to help them establish themselves more securely in Pentos.”

Brienne snorted. “That is definitely a problem. No. I won’t send my men to fight and die in a foreign land for some traitor’s get to take what isn’t theirs.”

“I’m not sure that the man in question entirely subscribes to his family’s ambition.” Tyrion paused. “In fact, I have the impression that _his_ motivation for agreeing to the match is to get away from the … more _ambitious_ members of his family.”

Brienne raised her eyebrows. “He’s a man grown, isn’t he? He could just leave.”

“It’s complicated,” Tyrion said. “He feels bound by family loyalty. And there is a child, a daughter …”

“A bastard? I thought you said he wasn’t dishonourable.”

“He’s honourable enough to care for the child’s wellbeing, and _his_ price for agreeing to his family’s plan is that he can bring the child with him.”

That _did_ make her feel a little more well-disposed towards the exiled knight without legs. _He probably can’t get away from his family, whoever they are, without a marriage. How can a maimed man keep himself?_ She could almost imagine him, trying to be a father to a little girl, surrounded by kin who only sought to use him to their own ends. “What’s his name?”

“Lefford,” Tyrion said. “A cadet branch that … got itself in difficulties. His first name … and this is why, Ser Brienne, truly why I wouldn’t have presented him to you as a candidate if any others had suited you. His first name is Jaime.”

The wave of pain that washed through her was shockingly keen. To hear his name, in the voice of the brother who had loved him more than anyone in the world …

Brienne closed her eyes and steadied her breathing, and then opened them and gave Tyrion a steady look. “Jaime Lefford. Very well. But I will not provide an army. Gold, perhaps, if the request is reasonable. And I will not marry a man without knowing him. Tell him he may write to me, and if he writes well enough, I will consider writing back.”

*/*/*/*/*


	2. Jaime I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by diesis.

He still dreamed about the night they left King's Landing, sometimes, and when he did it was not the rubble, nor the dragon fire that always woke him up with a start. It was Cersei's whining voice when they reached the cave, her sneering when he attempted to untie the rope of the dinghy, and he failed repeatedly. _"You really are the stupidest Lannister, aren't you? How in the Seven Hells is a one-handed cripple supposed to row all the way up to Essos?"_

The words weren't always the same, but her tone was unmistakable. He shivered under the wicked contempt in her eyes.

When he opened his own, he almost thanked the gods for the straw mattress under his back and the heat of the night that calmed down his shudders. And, of course, for the fact that she was sleeping in the other room of their small house, and couldn't see him when he tried to wipe the sweat from his forehead with his stump, in an unconscious gesture that always made him wince, and then cry silently.

Jaime stood from his pallet, stretched and checked little Cora's bed. The girl slept peacefully, one of her little chubby hands clenched the sheets, the other rested on the pillow beneath her golden curls.

Whenever Jaime asked himself if it had been worth it, he just needed to look at her, and the answer came without thinking: _yes_. And whenever Cora called him "papa" with her tiny voice, he forgot all the struggles, all the pain he had suffered in the last three years.

If Tyrion was to be believed, the pain and the struggle would probably end soon, for both him and his daughter - the first one he could claim as his own.

He recalled the first time he held Cora in his arms, on the day she was born, when the midwife told him that maybe Cersei would not survive the childbirth. But survive she did.

"You should have called her Joanna, after our mother. Myrcella, even," she spat some weeks later, when they were able to leave the small fishermen village on the northern coast of the Blackwater bay, where they had found shelter after the city was destroyed, mingling with the other refugees, hiding and trying to disguise themselves while his wounds healed and her belly finally grew. "Now our heir will be named after a damn midwife!"

"It's our _child_ , not our _heir_ , sweet sister." He answered dryly. "And I won't put her in danger with a name that any fool could recognise as a Lannister one."

He liked the name, anyway. It sounded almost like "coral": a red thing that lived deep down into blue waters. It was not something he would ever tell to Cersei, that he loved that name because he reminded him of the colour of the ocean, somehow - of the colour of _her_ eyes.

He could never tell if it was because she nearly died giving birth to the girl, or because of her growing obsession about regaining the power she had lost, but by the time they reached Pentos on a merchant ship a couple of moons later, Cersei had already decided that they would pretend again to be nothing more than brother and sister, and that Cora was going to be just _his_ daughter. She probably planned to try to get married to some influential idiot in the free cities, and a fatherless baby would interfere.

Jaime agreed without questioning. He'd never admit it, but he was utterly relieved.

He opened the window, inhaled deeply. Then went back to the girl's bed, placed a soft kiss on her head, and started donning his clothes. It was going to be another long day.

*/*/*/*/*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: just a note about names:
> 
> "Cora": from the Greek word "kore", that means "young girl, maiden"


	3. Jaime II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Clearance_Unicorn.

“Well?” Cersei asked. “Do you need me to write it for you?”

Jaime smiled at her, without affection. “You’ll woo a wife for me, sweet sister? How times have changed.”

Cersei frowned at him. “This is important, Jaime. This woman, whoever she is, will be the key to our return. You have to persuade her … lie, pretend, whatever it is that men do with women. We need her army, or her gold.”

“Why, sweet sister, perhaps you should give me lessons on lying and pretending. Is it what men do with women, or what women do with men?”

She sighed, and turned in a swirl of skirts. “Are we to have this argument again?”

“I only mean to point out that _I_ have never lied, to you or any other woman. You, on the other hand, sweet sister …”

Cersei whirled back. Her hand cracked across his cheek. Jaime made no effort to block or evade the blow, only grinned at her. “Careful, sweet sister. Sooner or later my prospective bride will want to meet me, and she might have questions if I am too badly bruised.”

“Write the letter,” she ordered. “Make the foolish child fall in love with you. The Lannister name depends on it.”

She stalked out, still regal, and slammed the door closed behind her.

“It’s alright,” Jaime said softly. “She’s gone.”

A small hand grasped the bottom of the mattress, and then a little face peered out from beneath the bed. “Sure?”

“I’m sure.” Jaime opened his arms, and Cora scrambled out beneath the bed and ran to him. He caught her up into his lap and held her close. “It’s alright, sweetling. She’s angry with me, not you.” Cora still shivered, clinging to him, and Jaime closed his eyes. _I can’t protect her, not truly, and she knows it._ “How would you like it if we went away, me and you? Across the sea, to a new home?”

Cora nodded, her head pressed to his chest, and Jaime felt his eyes burn.

“Well, I need to write a letter to make that happen. Will you help me?” His maimed arm around Cora’s back, Jaime reached for parchment and quill. “I have to persuade a great lady to like me. Will you help me work out what to say?” He fumbled the ink-stone open, and wiped the nib across it. “Let’s see. My lady, that’s a good beginning, isn’t it?”

Cora nodded, beginning to relax against him. _I must get her away from here. I must get her safe._

There was some woman in Westeros who would find herself married to the Kingslayer, and Jaime would have felt sorry for her, in any other circumstances. But weighing her happiness against Cora’s safety?

He shifted Cora’s weight a little, and wiped the nib across the ink-block. _My lady._

_I hear you are willing to receive my words._

*/*/*/*/*


	4. Brienne II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Clearance_Unicorn.

Her desk was unfamiliar. Not _more_ unfamiliar than anything else in Storm’s End, just … exactly as unfamiliar as everything was.

Brienne pressed her lips together, forced herself to ignore the fact that this was not her home and never would be, and split the wax on the scroll in her hand with one blunt thumbnail.

The seal was unfamiliar, a simple oval with a vague animal shape within it. _A minor house_. One too poor to have a complex seal commissioned, too small to care about forgeries. Brienne unrolled the scroll and tilted it towards the window, narrowing her eyes to decipher the uneven handwriting.

_My lady,_

_I hear you are willing to receive my words. I hope they find favour with you._

_I understand you are willing to entertain my suit, if I send you a fair enough letter. I would pay you a thousand compliments, but we have not met, and you would surely know that any comparison between your smile and the summer’s sun was nothing more than a poet’s empty courtesy. I could perhaps attempt to gild myself in your eyes, but if you saw through my self-flattery you would think less of me, and if you did not, I would think less of you._

_So let me try a little truth. I do not know you, my lady, nor do you know me. I know you know that I am penniless, maimed, the father of a daughter without a name, and yet you have not refused me outright. Most would do so, and that you do not, tells me much, to your credit._

_I would tell you that I would make you a good husband, but never having been one, I do not know. I can promise you I will be a faithful one, although I am sure my circumstances give you reason to doubt that. I was raised to be my father’s heir, educated, trained, and fostered with a great house to that end. I know the ways of court, though I admit they weary me. I have commanded men, settled disputes without bloodshed, and protected those I could. These small skills I set at your disposal, should you want them._

_I could promise to love you, but love is not something any of us can choose. I do promise to esteem and respect you, both as a husband should a wife and a knight should a lady, and – given your offices – as any man should respect and obey his liege._

_If I have managed to write thus far without giving you offence, I should close before I do so. If it please you, my lady, I wait for your reply._

_Jaime._

*/*/*/*/*


	5. Brienne III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by diesis.

_Love is not something any of us can choose._ Brienne read the sentence for the umpteenth time, and for the umpteenth time grabbed the quill, then set it down again. Perhaps she would already have replied to her suitor's letter, if he hadn't written those words. Instead, the parchment had lingered on her desk for almost a week, like a discarded dish of leftovers - and by now it would already have started to get moldy and to stink.

A knock on the door saved her from the task. "My lady." Basoal, Storm's End maester, was an old grumpy prude. She'd been appointed as Warden of the East and Lady of the Stormlands for almost one year, and still the man couldn't bring himself to call her with her knightly title. Not to mention the way he used to scowl at her every time something or someone reminded him of her past _deeds_ \- and that was quite often, indeed. Once, she caught him while he told a servant that, at least, even if she'd been the paramour of the Kingslayer, she was a better ruler than that yokel of Robert Baratheon's bastard. She tried to send him back to the Citadel, but apparently there was no other maester available. "There is a message for you."

For the briefest moment, she hoped that it might be another scroll from Pentos, a letter from _that_ Jaime saying that he had changed his mind, something that could put her out of her misery. But the maester handled her a folded sheet, with a big grey wax sigil.

"It came with the latest shipping from White Harbor, this morning. There is also a package addressed to you personally from the Queen in the North. Shall I have it delivered in your chambers, my lady?"

"No, thank you, Basoal. Bring it in here."

Brienne waited until a porter carried a wrapped box inside the solar and placed it on one of the chairs, then sat again at her desk and opened Sansa's note.

_My dearest Brienne, I hope my letter finds you well and happy. Here in Winterfell life goes on uneventfully. Spring hasn't reached the North yet, and now I do start longing for it, for a new beginning after this endless winter._

Brienne turned her gaze towards the window, to the breeze that rose from the bay. Flowers had already started blossoming on the Stormlands' fields, but she felt like nothing had changed in her heart since the night she'd been left in the courtyard of Winterfell, alone and crying. She returned to the letter.

_I received a message from Arya some days ago. She and Gendry are faring well, and she wrote she'll always be grateful to you for taking his role as Storm's End Liege. I don't know if they'll ever come back, but she seemed genuinely happy._

A small smile lifted up the corners of her mouth, and faded immediately when she read the next words.

_Lord Tyrion informed me that you're going to get married soon. I know very well that duty overcomes everything else, when it comes to choose a proper match, but I do trust your judgment, and I'm sure that the man you'll take as your husband will be worthy of you."_

Brienne watched the scroll in shock. "What..." she muttered for her alone to hear. _No, not "what". When. When did he tell her? To reach the sea from Winterfell you need a couple of weeks, and the trip from White Harbor to Storm's End lasts at least ten days..._ Hence it was very likely that Sansa knew of her marriage before Brienne herself.

She was definitely going to argue with Tyrion the next time he set foot in Storm's End.

_I am often considering to find a suitable companion for myself as well but, being a Queen, it's much more complicated. I hope that when we'll meet at your wedding you'll be able to give me some suggestions about this subject - I miss your company and your wise advice! Meanwhile, I'm sending you a present I hope you'll appreciate. As I already wrote, here in the North it's been quite boring lately and I had plenty of time to prepare it myself. Don't feel compelled to use it for the ceremony, if you think it's not fitting, but I hope you'll like it anyway, and I hope I've got your measurements right! I wish you all the best and I look forward to receiving your invitation. Yours, Sansa._

Brienne looked at the box warily, as if it were a snake charmer's basket.

She was definitely going to _kill_ Tyrion the next time he set foot in Storm's End.

She steadied herself, stood and walked to the chair, then unwrapped the package carefully. On the top she found a pair of dark blue silken breeches, soft and simply cut. Under them, a beautifully embroidered tunic, in a lighter shade of blue, with golden suns and silver moons all over the cleavage and the sleeves. She couldn't help picking it up and pressing it against her chest. It looked like it would fit exactly. _Just like my armour did._

The last item remained on the bottom of the box. Brienne didn't need to open it out to know what it was. The silver pattern that Sansa sewed on its white border reproduced the sigils of all the main houses of the Stormlands. The satin fabric was half blue, half pink, and the Tarth sigil stood out in the middle.

_It's a bit too late for a maiden's cloak, my friend._

Brienne caressed it slowly. It belonged to another life, to another Jaime.

 _I'm not going to cry._ She reminded herself while she folded neatly the gown and thrust it again into the box. _I won't shed a tear anymore, neither for him nor for myself._

She returned at the table, picked up again the quill and a new piece of parchment. Her hand was shaking.

_Ser Lefford. I appreciated your earnestness, and I feel I owe you the same sincerity..._

*/*/*/*/*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: just a note about names:
> 
> "Basoal" is a word of the dialect of my region and it means "moron", I thought it suited the character!


	6. Jaime III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by SeeThemFlying.

Jaime locked himself away in his chamber with Cora when Cersei insisted on having that grotesque, fat wine merchant over for dinner. For some reason, Cersei had let him sweet talk her into believing he knew everyone in Pentos and could introduce her to all manner of respectable persons in the city… for the right price. Blinded by a hint of glamour and wealth, Cersei had ignored Jaime’s advice to be careful with their money – they didn’t have lots of it after all – and she had hired a fair haired youth to play the high harp. It seemed her plan was to have him serenade the wine merchant with songs in the common tongue while she fluttered her eyelashes at him, in the false belief that it would persuade him to open all the wealth of Pentos to her.

 _Oh, sweet sister,_ thought Jaime darkly. _He wants much more than that._

Once, Jaime would have been jealous. There was something about the wine merchant that reminded him of Robert Baratheon, and Jaime could well remember the agonising nights he had tormented himself over the thought of that drunken old king’s hands over his sweet sister’s body. But now? Now he didn’t care at all. Maybe this man would find Cersei a husband; in Pentos, in Volantis, in Meereen, in Yi Ti, someplace so far away she was impossible to reach. Good. Then it would just be him, Cora, and the weight of memory.

Shut away in his cold room in Pentos, it was not his sister sitting downstairs with her fat wine merchant that tormented him. It was _her. Her_ eyes that haunted him, _her_ laugh, _her_ smile, _her_ touch, _her_ embrace, _her_ tears, _her_ sadness. The Maid of Tarth was forever with him, but as far away as it was possible to be; he was beyond her sight, beyond her love, beyond her forgiveness. For who could ever forgive what he did?

There was a tap against the shutter. Jaime rose from his pallet and opened the window to see a girl in a plain dress standing in the street. It was Verra, and she'd clearly been throwing stones at his window to avoid the wrath of his sister. Verra worked as a serving girl in the manse of a famed goldsmith further up the street; a young but plain girl with pale blonde hair and blue eyes, she had a habit of blushing every time he said “good morning” to her, and there was something innocent in her that endeared her to him.

“Ser,” she called. “I’m sorry for this late hour, but there was a message that arrived by courier for you, sent to us by mistake.” She brandished it in her hand.

 _Ah,_ he thought wryly, _my lady love._

“Do you want it?”

“Yes,” he replied. “One moment, Verra. I’ll be one moment.”

Leaving Cora asleep, he went silently down the stairs, past the hall where Cersei’s fake laughter ricocheted off the walls, and to the front door. “Thank you,” he said earnestly as Verra put the letter into his hands. “I am sorry for the inconvenience.”

“It was no inconvenience,” she smiled. She had crooked teeth, and had once broken her nose, and he knew all the boys teased her for it, but that just made Jaime like her more. He placed a few coins into her hands, which made her blush to the roots of her hair.

_My lady used to blush like that for me._

Returning back inside the house, he tried to ignore the refrain of _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ being sung by the harpist as he returned to his chamber. After checking on Cora, he sat on his pallet and opened the creamy parchment with a little difficulty. Inside, was the letter he had been waiting for.

_Ser Lefford._

_I appreciated your earnestness, and I feel I owe you the same sincerity. I too have no need for empty compliments or flattery; words are wind, and it is in actions that one must find the merit of a man._

_Therefore, I value your desire to explain your truth as you see it – most men would hide it. In return, I offer you mine. As Lady of Storm’s End, I am one of the greatest marital prospects in Westeros. I have land, money, bannermen, titles, and wealth, everything that a potential husband could wish for. As a woman, the stars have deemed it that I will never play the lady; I am no great beauty, nor do I enjoy sitting round the fireside embroidering pin cushions, and I am more likely to cut you with my blade than with my fine words._

_As a partner, as a spouse, I only offer you what you have already outlined as possible – esteem and respect. Like you, I cannot offer you my love, but not for the reason that love is not something any of us can choose. There is always a choice. Love may sneak up on you unawares, but once you have it, it is entirely within your power to keep, cherish, give away, lose, gamble with, or burn forever. I know how I spend mine. Do you?_

_If you are still earnest in your suit, I welcome your reply._

_B, Lady of Storm’s End._

Jaime’s thumb hovered over that letter – B. He had never realised that a single letter could be so torturous.

*/*/*/*/*


	7. Jaime IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Clearance_Unicorn.

Jaime read the letter twice, and then twice more. Down the hall, the tune had changed. _A coat of gold, a coat of red … a lion still has claws …_ Cersei, still arrogant, still reckless. _Still thinking she can drag the Stark king from his throne and drown him in the depths of the Red Keep._

_And so he spoke … and so he spoke …_

He dragged parchment, quill and ink towards him and wrote, the words coming faster than his poor limping script could keep up with.

_Lady B_ ,

_I have no actions to offer you, only windy words, but with them I would urge you to disregard my family importuning you for an army. No force you could raise could lift them to the position they crave, and no circumstance could make them deserve it. They will accept gold as a bride-price for me, believe me, and I implore you, offer nothing more._

Jaime paused, long enough for the ink to dry on the nib of the quill. _And now the rains weep o’er his halls … with no-one there to hear._ His eyes strayed back to the missive from the Lady of Storm’s End. _She wields a blade_. Well, Tarth owed allegiance to Storm’s End, after all. _Perhaps Brienne inspired her._ Perhaps Brienne had _taught_ her.

He set down his quill and ran his fingers through his hair. _That_ was a complication he hadn’t considered. The Warden of the East no doubt knew the heir of Tarth. _They may even be friends._ They likely _were_ friends, there was something in the letter than made him think they would find much in common. _So_.

Jaime had not allowed himself to consider that returning to Westeros might mean facing Brienne of Tarth once more, even when his brother’s letter had brought the news that only one woman, the Lady of Storm’s End, would consider his suit. If they met … she would see through the façade of _Jaime Lefford_ in an instant. _Aye, see through it, and not betray me. She is true, my Brienne, she is loyal, she is faithful._ But he would have to look on her, see again the pain in her blue eyes, the pain he had put there.

_No_. There would be no pain, only hatred. He had chosen his words carefully, just for that. He had been dishonourable enough to take her maidenhead, but he had at least given her back her heart, that she might not mourn him, that she might find happiness with another. Or, if not happiness – Jaime could not pretend that he wanted to believe Brienne would find true and lasting love with another man, he was not nearly good enough for that – if not happiness, then contentment, an easy domestic comfort.

_And what sort of man does that make me_? A better man would want her happy, blissfully in love, adored by a husband worthy of her. _But I have never been a better sort of man._ He did not want another man to know just how to touch and kiss and caress Brienne of Tarth to make her melt and sigh and moan. He did not want to believe she could look at another man the way she had looked at him – that she could say another man’s name the way she had said his, when they parted at Harrenhal. _Ser Jaime._ Everything, and nothing, giving him back his name.

Jaime blinked hard, and damped his nib once more. There was no point thinking of Brienne of Tarth. _If I have to face her anger, I will._ He glanced over his shoulder. _For Cora. I must get her away from here. Whatever it costs me, it is worth it._

He read over his words, and then the letter from Lady B again. What he had written would serve. Lady B clearly valued honesty, as his wench had done. _But what else shall I add?_ He had to persuade her, for Cora’s sake. It was not dishonest, not truly – he would be whatever she wanted, the Lady of Storm’s End, he would serve her and service her as she required. She was not _his_ last hope, he had cast that away long ago, but she was Cora’s.

_My lady, you write of beauty and embroidery and fine words. I assure you, I care for none of them. The finest woman I ever knew spoke bluntly, sewed terribly, and looked worse. I am glad to hear you are adept with a blade: I was once accounted more than competent with a sword but those days are long past, and if I can’t defend my lady wife, I would be glad to marry a woman who can defend herself._

_You ask how I have spent my love – I can only say,_ unwisely. _I wasted it on a cruel woman, beyond all reason, and when it was given to me unstinting by a good one, I was too much a fool to grasp it. You say there is a choice – well, my lady, I must admit to you I chose wrong, twice. But still I love –_

Jaime paused. He could not say to this lady _still I love my wench, my Maid, my Brienne_. No woman would agree to marry a man who confessed himself still blind and deaf and dizzy in love with another woman. But … love mattered to her, he could tell, he could sense it through her neatly scribed words.

_Still I love my daughter. Her name is Cora, and she is but three years old. Her hair is golden, her eyes are green, and she has a sweet laugh that she shares all too rarely._

_My lady, in all honesty, I would cheerfully accept your rejection of my suit if you took my daughter as a scullery maid. I would, more than anything, wish to leave Pentos, but I would remain here as I am entirely gladly if I could know that Cora was in the care of someone who valued esteem and respect and believed that a woman should learn to wield a blade. And I cannot offer you anything in exchange, except myself, a maimed, disgraced knight with some small skills to recommend me._

_I wouldn’t blame you, should you chose a better suitor. One who has spent his life’s small measure of love more wisely. I only ask – she is but three, my lady. I cannot protect her, not here. She is young for fostering, but you are the Lady of Storm’s End. If you will not entertain me –”_

Jaime blinked down at the parchment, which contained far more words than he had meant to spill. The end of the sentence eluded him.

In the end, he simply wrote _Her name is Cora_ once more, signed it with a scrawled _Jaime_ , and sealed the letter.

*/*/*/*/*


	8. Brienne IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by SeeThemFlying.

Every time Maester Basoal told her there was a letter for her, the Lady of Storm’s End would tense up. Since Sansa’s gift, she had the unnerving feeling that the Queen in the North and the Hand of the King were playing a game with her, planning their moves together before she had a chance to think. Consequently, although she had received a mundane letter from Tyrion since, enquiring about events in the Stormlands, she had ignored it. If he wanted to toy with her, at least he could do it to her face. Not liking this jape, she had also locked Sansa’s gift away in a chest in her room, determined not to look upon it. Although the embroidery was fine and the colour beautiful, it had been made for a different woman; a Brienne of Tarth who thought that kisses in the darkened rooms of Winterfell meant something, a foolish deflowered maid dreaming of her handsome knight, a stupid girl who had believed him when he had whispered “I love you”.

_I am not her anymore. I am not Brienne of Tarth, the Kingslayer’s Whore. I am the Lady of Storm’s End, and I will cry no more tears for him._

Finding it horribly oppressive cooped up inside with the letters, the inkwells, and the ghosts of her past, she went outside to the training yard and sparred with the young squires. In her last letter to Ser Lefford, she had made sure to outline her preference for the blade over womanly pursuits. She could easily see the way she had drawn herself – unconventional, unfeminine, unattractive – and perhaps he would give up his suit because of that sketch. Brienne wasn’t entirely sure if that was what she wanted, but she knew without a doubt it would be easier that way. And then, at least, Tyrion Lannister would not win.

As she swung her sword at a fair headed youth with green eyes, knocking him to the floor, she tried not to think of this as a petty revenge on the green eyed Lannister who plotted to have her married off, nor on his brother who had left her to wear a maiden’s wedding cloak for another man, nursing a broken heart.

When she returned to the Great Hall for supper that evening, sweaty and aching, she found someone had let in a singer who sang long sad stories from faraway lands. Setting herself down at the high table, she ate her soup and listened; once, Brienne of Tarth had loved songs. As a girl, she had imagined herself Jonquil, waiting for her Florian. He had never come… or… at least… he had been wearing a mask while whispering sweet words.

_Words are wind._

After she finished her soup, she retired to her rooms, wanting some time alone. However, Maester Basoal was waiting for her, a grumpy look on his face.

“My Lady,” he said, giving her a stiff bow. “I was disappointed not to see you today. Where have you been?”

“Sparring,” she replied bluntly. He evidently thought that an unwise activity for a lady.

His chains rattled as he pressed a pile of papers onto her writing desk. “We have much to discuss. There have been some problems with quarrying the correct stone for the rebuilding of Dragonstone, and there is a dispute over import tariffs in Weeping Town…”

“Not now, Maester,” she said. Today had been a bad day. Some days were better than others, but ever since Sansa’s gift, all her thoughts had been on Jaime, and not the one who was writing her letters.

_Jaime. Jaime. Jaime. Jaime._

“Yes. _Now_ ,” the Maester said, a little imperiously. “You are the Lady of Storm’s End. People expect things from you. People demand things from you. You must give…”

She was tired of giving – giving and giving and giving – and her body ached from fighting. All Brienne wanted to do was sleep. “Well, I have nothing to give this evening, I’m afraid. Please can we talk on these matters in the morning?”

“I was not sent here from the Citadel to endure constant procrastination!” he huffed pompously, as if he spent all his days waiting for the unwise, unlearned Lady of Storm’s End to bestow her unenlightened decisions upon him.

“That is quite unfair,” she snapped. “Just because I was not here at the exact time you thought was wise to discuss these tasks, it does not mean I am unaware of my duty.” When he tried to raise himself to his full height and bite back, she said, “Now get out, before I throw you out.”

The old Maester looked at her angrily, but her stare was so ferocious that he ended up wilting and withdrawing.

 _I really must write to the citadel again for a new Maester,_ she thought.

Once the old man was gone, she sat in her chair at the writing desk, and looked at the pile of papers he had brought her. They were what the Maester had said they were about; quarries, import tariffs, and all manner of other boring subjects. Briefly rifling through them, she was surprised to find a letter at the bottom with a wax seal. When she opened it, she realised it was from Ser Lefford.

_Lady B,_

_I have no actions to offer you, only windy words, but with them I would urge you to disregard my family importuning you for an army. No force you could raise could lift them to the position they crave, and no circumstance could make them deserve it. They will accept gold as a bride-price for me, believe me, and I implore you, offer nothing more._

She blinked. So much for Maester Basoal’s belief that people would always be demanding things from the Lady of Storm’s End. Here, Ser Lefford was trying to persuade her to take him for almost nothing, a few gold dragons at the most. Brienne read on, determined to discover his trick.

He wrote of how he did not care for beauty and embroidery and fine words; she had only ever met one man who had seemed not to mind such things, and he had broken her heart so completely that she did not think there would ever be a way to put it back together again. Maybe this was flattery, but Ser Lefford seemed sincere when he spoke of how glad he was she was adept with a blade. She tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Then he went on to answer her foolish question about love. He had spent it unwisely, he said. _I wasted it on a cruel woman… and when it was given to me unstinting by a good one, I was too much a fool to grasp it._ Brienne could understand that. She too had spent her love unwisely after all, _still_ spent it unwisely.

 _He’s dead,_ she thought. _And he broke my heart._

Her Jaime left her thoughts for a moment when Ser Lefford began to write about his daughter. His love poured out in every flick of the pen.

_Her name is Cora, and she is but three years old. Her hair is golden, her eyes are green, and she has a sweet laugh that she shares all too rarely._

Brienne could imagine this sad, distant little girl faraway in exile in Pentos. Her father begged to have Brienne take her as a scullery maid, to foster her, to give her a good life with a lady who would teach her to wield a sword. It was that, more than anything, that endeared Ser Lefford to her. When she had first heard of him from Tyrion, she had been worried that the fact he had a bastard daughter meant he was a dishonourable man, but there was no dishonour in this. The way he broke off his sentence to conclude – _her name is Cora –_ showed his love for his child lifted him above his sins.

There was enough in this letter for Brienne to begin to extricate Ser Lefford from the one who had a hold of his name – Jaime – the man who polluted it, tainted it, poisoned it, possessed it, filled it, made it glow, made it shine, made it stop her heart, made it a song on her tongue, made it so bright that there was no star in the sky that could outshine it. _Jaime, my Jaime. His name was Jaime._

But he was dead, and Ser Lefford was very much alive, and he dearly loved his daughter. He deserved a response. Brienne picked up her pen, determined to write something back.

 _Ser Jaime Lefford,_ she wrote, wondering how to begin.

_Cora is a pretty name. Why did you choose it?_

*/*/*/*/*


	9. Jaime V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by SunshineFromMyHeart

From the terrace, one could admire the Narrow Sea. The humid breeze caressed his face, soothing his mind. He smiled faintly. She had asked why he had chosen that name, and surely, a conflict he would need to resolve was surging inside of him. Aware more than others of the consequences of duplicity, he had to be as true as he could be in his writing.

“Ser? Ser Lefford ?”

The young Pentoshi’s voice pulled him out of his reverie.

“What is it again?”

“I don’t think I can memorize so much Houses and sigils, … There are so many of them! I would rather learn to be a knight!”

Every day he came over, the same argument would occur to the point it had become a habit. Jaime sighed “What did I tell you last week? And every other time?”

Reluctantly, Syros sat back on his chair, immersing himself in his massive book of Westerosi History, his long raven hair covering his face.

The boy’s family lived in one of the city’s beautiful houses right by the sea. His father, a rich merchant had greatly insisted that he tutor their son. That he was to be raised learning the Westerosi habits and customs. The boy had met a knight passing through, who had recounted him tales of chivalry, poor boy had been obsessed since.

First, Jaime had refused: these were matters from another life and he didn’t want to hear any of it. Some names hurt more than others. _**Tarth**_.

However, life in Pentos wasn’t easy and Cersei had made it clear he was to provide, since he had refused Tyrion’s allowance. She hadn’t even considered the risks of someone noticing that the hand of the King regularly sent money to Pentos?

More importantly, he had to build a life for his daughter. He could manage manual labor, but who would be willing to engage a one-handed lad with no work experience?

After he was done considering his options, he decided that reliving those not so precious memories was a little price to pay compared to the constant nagging of the former Queen about their living conditions.

His purgatory, was to visit the boy twice a week, and it paid him enough to live a suitable life. While he tutored the boy, Cora whom seldom left his side was there, and sometimes learned too. Leaving her with Cersei was no option.

Always keeping an eye on her, he was astonished at how effortlessly regal she looked, fitting perfectly amongst the beautiful and colorful flowers of the palace. As her father, he didn’t put much effort in her appearance. Sometime, he wished he could offer her a similar life, but then memories of his own youth would resurface and he’d ask himself: what good had it done to them? A pair arrogant and vain. Self-doubts would more than often creep around, and made him think could he raise her to be someone good? _Like her_.

“Ser, my father says you were a knight? Did you lose your hand during the war? Who was the strongest knight in Westeros?” Syros, once again had lifted his behind from his chair, relentless with his questions. Pupils constricted with excitement, demanding answers.

“If you wish it so much,” he answered, giving in “we shall speak of knights: what do you think are the qualities of a true knight?” _A truer knight you’ll ever be…_

“Bravery! And maybe … Strength?” The boy added tentatively.

“Hmm both are good answers…” Jaime answered absently stroking his beard “but those qualities won’t suffice in the real world…” Once more, his thoughts had enveloped him and he had no control over them, dreamily, a faint smile creeping on his lips he continued “I probably met the only one, strong, loyal, honorable… Always striving to be just … ”

The lad was waiting for what was next, hanging onto every single word.

“But this is a talk for another day” he concluded “enough Syros, study the Houses and their Sigils, and maybe next time I will spar with you. Don’t expect much, I lack training though.”

“Thank you, ser!” Excited and probably afraid his instructor would take his words back, the boy collected his books and ran back inside.

The sun was setting, it was time to traverse the city back home. Cora was tired, as he held her small body in his arms, he could recount each word of her benevolent and appeasing letter.

_Ser Jaime Lefford,_

_Cora is a pretty name. Why did you choose it?_

_The love you bestow upon your daughter moved me more than I would have wanted it to. Your words reminded me of my father, whom, contrary to our society expectations let me live the life I had chosen for myself and was my greatest support._

_I must confess, you are an oddity to me, I was surprised to read you neither coveted my money nor my love, you also refuse to be traded like cattle by your family. In that regard, you have already won my respect, I wish we were all in control of our destiny._

_I conclude the Gods have been cruel to both of us when it comes to love, so can we agree that love has no place in our correspondences?_

_Except the love you share for your daughter, of course, which seems to be the purest and sincerest in the world._

_I will gladly hear from you,_

_B, Lady of Storm’s End_

========================

Upon their return, Cersei had greeted them with what seemed like a smile, a strange occurrence which happened only when she had gotten what she wanted.

“Put her to bed and have a drink with me, brother,” she simply said a hand tracing the delicate figure of _his_ daughter’s sleeping face moving up to caress her hair. Both her gesture and tone a surprise to him, seemed she still had tenderness in her, he thought.

The room had not been cleaned, empty bottles of wine still stood on the table, yet she didn’t pester him about the mess this time, his sister unquestionably was in a good mood. He smiled to himself wondering which idiot had fallen into her trap, pitied the fool, but mostly felt relieved.

Once Cora’s body was warmly tucked under the blanket, he headed down the stairs, and sat across from his twin. The thought of them being one made him chuckle, they had nothing much in common anymore. In another lifetime, he even had thought he could read her mind, or was that another one of her deceitful game?

“Seems like you already started the celebration, what are we drinking to? Your greasy pig found you any good suitors?” he asked casually, grabbing a bottle and helping himself to what was left of it.

“For myself not yet …” She slowly answered filling up her cup again, “but…” She drank and placed it back on the table as to have a hold of his full attention “He might find us a wealthy arrangement for _**our**_ daughter…”

At some point, his cup dropped on the cold floor, resonating within the hall yet he didn’t hear anything.

*/*/*/*/*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **From ShirleyAnn66:** I'm feeling absurdly guilty about not responding to comments because my own personal policy is to respond to all (or almost all) comments on my fics. However, since I'm currently just the host for this fic, I feel the authors should be responding to comments, if they choose to do so. So, for people who have interacted with me in the past: my policy hasn't changed...this is just a unique situation - LOL.


	10. Jaime VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Clearance_Unicorn.

There was a roaring in his ears and his balance was uncertain as he stooped and retrieved his cup. “Cora is three. Three years old.”

“Not too young for a betrothal,” Cersei said. “The Terys family, in Braavos, have four young sons and their mother longs for a daughter, but will bear no more. If I agree to a betrothal, they will foster her, and her bride price –”

“But that is impossible,” Jaime said. He had never been able to lie to Cersei, but he lied now, cold and clear and convincing as he could make it. “The Lady of Storm’s End, who you demanded I court, _also_ longs for a daughter, and has already included fostering Cora in her price for taking me off your hands.”

Cersei laughed. “There’s no need for any of that. Cora’s price will be enough to hire the mercenaries I’ll need to take King’s Landing and the Crownlands. Once that’s done, this so-called King Bran will quickly be forgotten. His family seat isn’t even in the _Six Kingdoms_. The rest will –”

“Call their banners and march on you,” Jaime said. He smiled, without affection. “Do you imagine you were so beloved?”

Her lips tightened. “I am the rightful queen –”

“No, and you never were. At least if I manage to wed the Lady of Storm’s End for you, you may have the support of the Stormlands. That was enough to nearly put Renly on the throne, after all.”

Jaime held his breath, gaze on her face, until at last she nodded. “Well. If you fail at your courting, then we can consider the Terys offer.”

He escaped to the room he shared with Cora as quickly as he could. His little girl was soundly asleep – she slept heavily, a blessing in a house often disturbed by Cersei’s drunken revels or rages. Still, he lit a couple of candles as quietly as he could, and picked up his quill.

_To Lady B, Lady of Storm’s End, and Warden of the East_

_My daughter bears the name of the midwife who saw her safely into the world, a woman to whom she owes her life as much as she owes her mother._

_My lady, while I am warmed by your good opinion, I must correct it. While you are right that I ask nothing from you that you do not offer, the entire purpose of this correspondence is to decide on the terms and price at which I will be traded to you, is it not? I cannot leave here without your help, and I would most sincerely wish to leave here._

_I am sorry to read that the Gods have been cruel to you, in love or any other way. Your words are kind, and the world should be kind to you in return, although I have reason to know more than many that we are often returned the opposite of what we earn in life._

_Your father sounds like a fine man. I will try to earn your generous comparison._

_Perhaps you wish to know a little more about my life here. It is hardly luxurious, but I have been hungry and cold in my life and am not now, nor is Cora, so all is well enough. I earn my keep teaching a boy the ways of Westeros – he has conceived the desire to be a knight, a strange ambition here, and his father can afford to indulge him. He is not quite old enough to be fostered or to go as a squire, so I teach him what I can in preparation. He would rather hear the tales of great deeds than memorise house words and house colours, but we compromise and struggle on, hindered somewhat by a dearth of current news._ _Perhaps you can assist – do you know who holds Bear Island now? Or Last Hearth? Syros finds his lessons more palatable wrapped in stories of heroism and horror, and the North has seen more than enough of both to hold his interest securely. And I have heard that Bronn of the Blackwater now holds Highgarden. Does he still use the flaming chain as his sigil? Have you heard if he has finally chosen House words?_

_And now I see I have asked almost more than I have told you. Forgive me. We are starved for scraps of news here. I would also hear a little of your own life, if you should choose to share it. The burdens on you are heavy, and I hope you are well assisted. A long day with nothing but papers to read and write and complaints to hear was certainly my father’s idea of a day well spent, but never mine. Do your duties spare you enough time to ride, to hunt, to practice your swordwork? Do you have a competent opponent for the latter? I’m afraid I cannot offer myself for that, not these days, but I flatter myself I have still the skill to_ judge _a man’s skill, so if you lack a Master-at-Arms who can truly test you, I can at least help you choose another._

_And now I have filled both sides of the parchment with my questions, so I will only wish you well, and hope to hear from you soon._

_Jaime._

He could not bring himself to write his false name, not to Lady B of Storm’s End. Tyrion had cautioned him, extensively, to avoid revealing himself as the Kingslayer until the bargain was made, but the most Jaime could bear to do was conceal.

_As if that is somehow better than an outright lie._

Feeling a little sick, he sanded the letter, sealed it, and set it aside to send on the morrow.

*/*/*/*/*


	11. Brienne V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by SeeThemFlying.

When Ralph Buckler, Lord of Bronzegate, wrote to the Lady of Storm’s End requesting her presence at a tourney for his daughter’s nameday in two moon’s turns, Brienne’s first instinct had been to say yes.

 _Your skill with a blade is quite renowned,_ Lord Buckler had written, _Jeyne would be so happy to see a Lady Knight amongst the young bravados._

Brienne sighed. She remembered Jeyne Buckler – a pretty, warm girl who played the high harp and sang like a bird – and her mood darkened. _Jeyne Buckler’s mere presence would render me a freak_ , Brienne thought, before writing back to Lord Buckler, making some excuse about duties in Tarth.

When Podrick heard she did not intend to go, he was surprised. “But my lady,” he said, “you would best them all. I’m sure others could manage business here until…”

Maester Basaol fixed Brienne with an expectant look. It was clear he thought there was no need for the Lady of Storm’s End to be fighting in tourneys and, as she had not managed to rid herself of him, Brienne thought it was probably best if they came to an accommodation.

“No Pod. I have my duties here. You go if you want to, it will be a way for you to win your spurs.”

It seemed everyone in the Stormlands was excited for Jeyne Buckler’s tourney, so much so that in the weeks leading up to it, young fighters had started to arrive from Tarth, Mistwood, and Greenstone, hoping to lodge at Storm’s End and the surrounding town before making their journey to Bronzegate. Brienne tried to ignore their excited hubbub by throwing herself into her work.

Soon, she received a letter from Ser Jaime Lefford. Not wanting to read it in front of Pod or Maester Basaol, she claimed she was tired and needed to retreat to her rooms, even though it was only early evening. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she sat by the fire and unfurled the parchment.

It was the longest she had received from him yet, covering two sides in his slightly wonky scrawl. Seeing the effort he had gone to, she silently admonished herself for her previous short letters, but then she remembered why; Brienne did not want to be writing business-like addresses regarding their potential marriage to Ser Jaime Lefford, she dreamt of composing love notes to Ser Jaime Lannister.

Shaking her head to rid herself of the image of his smile, she turned back to Ser Lefford’s letter. To her surprise, there was an undertone of something dark. He gave her the details of his daughter’s naming with none of the outpourings of love for her that had been present in his last letter. Wondering what troubled him, she decided to open with a cheery tone.

_Ser Jaime Lefford,_

_I thank you for your letter, it is good to hear from you. Many people have arrived at Storm’s End on their way to a tourney I have no wish to have a part in, so your words are a pleasant distraction._

She held her pen in her hand for a moment, thinking on how to continue.

_In your last letter, you wrote that the point of our correspondence is to settle the price at which you will be sold to me. I hope this does not offend you, but I am not so mercantile. We are not slavers in a slave market, nor farmers trading cattle. Our potential marriage would not be one solely built on gold, but on my understanding that you would have something to offer me as a man and husband. As we have agreed before, this would not be love, but perhaps it would be a steady mind, helpful advice, and continual support. Your letters are a way for me to confirm that you can offer me these things. This is not just bartering. Therefore, if you can prove that you suit me, you need not worry, ser; I have gold enough, I will pay your family their asked for bride price._

Feeling that paragraph was a little forthright, she decided to soften the tone.

_I am glad to hear that your life is comfortable, if not luxurious, and you have found a way to earn an honest keep. What is the name of the boy you teach? As for your questions about Westeros: Bear Island was awarded to a distant cousin of the poor deceased Lady Lyanna – a Ser Jory, I think? Last Hearth was given to a new house – a wildling fell in love with a northern maid at the feast that followed the Long Night, and Queen Sansa gave them the abandoned castle._

Trying not to think on that night too long, Brienne swiftly moved on.

_And as for Bronn of the Blackwater, he does indeed hold Highgarden (how? Only the gods know!) and he continues to use the flaming chain as his sigil. He has also finally come up with some house words, which he believes to be very witty – “How much?”_

Brienne read Ser Lefford’s last paragraph again, touched at his interest in her life, but also questioning how much she should say.

_As for my own life, I am sad to say, it is one of letters and complaints and petitions. I have a Maester to help me, but he is a miserable old bore who thinks ladies should stay locked in towers wearing pretty dresses while men deal with the matters of state. As I cannot get rid of the man, I feel hemmed in by his constant disdain for me. If I was perhaps less diligent, I would leave him to run my lands as he wished, but I am not that woman. Perhaps you have an idea on how best to deal with an irritable, surly maester? Because at the moment, my only response is to try and prove that I am fulfilling my duties to the best of my abilities, overworking myself in the process, and that leaves me little time for riding, or hunting, or even practicing with my sword. It is not the life I thought I would live._

_No,_ thought Brienne ruefully, _I would have spent that life with Jaime._

_As it stands, perhaps I am not missing much. I only have green squires to practice with and no Master-at-Arms in sight. I would welcome your insights into how best to look for a man who can fill the role well._

_I look forward to receiving your next letter._

She paused, wondering how to sign her name. Was the Lady of Storm’s End too formal, considering this man may soon be in her bed? She eventually settled on _Lady B._

Just as she finished sealing the letter with wax, there was a loud knock on the door. “Come in,” she said.

Podrick Payne burst into her solar, a frantic look on his face. “My lady,” he said, tension in his voice. “We found an injured knight on the road. It seems he was on his way to Bronzegate for Jeyne Buckler’s tourney but was set upon by bandits. He is gravely injured. Maester Basaol has sent him to a guest chamber, but I think it is probably best you come and see him for yourself.”

Brienne was on her feet in a moment, putting her letter to Ser Jaime Lefford in her desk in order to send later. She let Pod lead her to their new guest’s room; it was light and airy, with a view of the sea. When she knocked on the door, it was Maester Basaol who answered.

“Ah, Lady Brienne,” he said. “I fear our guest is hurt. There is so much blood. Perhaps it is not seemly for a lady…”

Feeling her anger rise, Brienne pushed her way into the room. “I would see our guest, Maester Basaol, if he is to stay and recuperate with us for a while.”

The fallen knight was lying on the bed, a bandage wrapped around his stomach and another around his left arm. He had a bruise on his jaw. Brienne drew close and it immediately became apparent that Maester Basaol had just given him milk of the poppy and the fair youth was trying to hold on to his consciousness. Once she was near, he sensed her presence and turned in her direction; for the first time, she could get a measure of him – he was young, with golden hair, and under the influence of the Maester’s drug he was giving her a jaunty smile.

“My lady,” he said in a deep, velvety voice. “I so much wanted to see you. Your men saved me, and I wanted to express my most sincere gratitude.” In his haze, he lifted his hand up and took her fingers with his. “I had heard legends of Brienne of Tarth, the Lady of Storm’s End, but I never expected her to be so fair.”

She went to laugh, but then she looked in his eyes and they were so deeply green it nearly stopped her heart.

_Jaime?_

Against all odds, against all sense and reason, this young knight’s intense green eyes reminded Brienne of her beloved, who had been cruelly ripped away from her.

“What is your name, ser?” she asked. Was he a hedge knight? A second son? Was he married? She had to know his name, for the part of her that was still a silly maid who thought life was a story reckoned it would not be so terrible to spend life beside a man who had Jaime Lannister’s eyes.

“My name?” he asked. “My name is…”

Then the milk of the poppy took him.

*/*/*/*/*


	12. Jaime VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by ShirleyAnn66.

Jaime did not begin to worry until the third week after he reasonably expected to receive a new missive from Lady B arrived and slipped away with no new word.

As the days drifted past, Jaime’s hopes rose and fell with the sun. There was no word from Tyrion either, telling him something had befallen Lady B—a more suitable husband, he hoped, and not something more dire. Lady B seemed kind and honest and reminded him of Brienne more than he cared to dwell upon, and for those reasons alone he hoped that if she had changed her mind about pursuing their acquaintance that it was for good reasons, not ill.

He kept going about his days: tutoring Syros, caring for Cora, and doing his best to keep Cersei appeased and convinced his courtship of the Lady of Storm’s End was proceeding as quickly as could be expected. Even Cersei, however, would notice at some point that there were no letters sealed with the sigil of the Lady of the Stormlands, Warden of the East, arriving at their door. If she were to suspect that he had, once again, failed to accomplish the only task she had set for him...

Cora called for him and he turned and smiled. He put down the package he was carrying and scooped her up into his arms as she ran to greet him. They were so seldom apart that even his short errand today seemed like an eternity away from her.

Verra hurried up to him, a smile on her face, a blush in her cheeks.

“She was so excited to see you, Ser Jaime, I could not hold her back.”

He grinned at that then turned a mock-scowl on his daughter. “Did you behave for Verra as I asked?”

Cora looked as affronted as a three-year-old could look. “Yes, Papa! I promised I would!”

“And you are a lady of your word,” Jaime said, and tried not to think of another woman who always kept her vows.

Verra gave them both a shy albeit fond smile. “She was a perfect little lady, Ser Jaime,” she said. “No trouble at all.”

Jaime thanked her and pressed the meagre coppers he had promised into her palm before he tucked his package under his right arm and walked home with Cora holding his hand.

Cersei met them at the door.

“You’re late,” she said.

Jaime was prepared for this and offered her the package.

“I learned a shipment of Arbor Gold arrived this morning,” he said. “It was always your favourite and these are the first bottles Highgarden has produced since the Stark boy took the throne. I thought you would appreciate the surprise.”

She peered at him, a suspicious twist to her lips, then she sniffed.

“It will not be a very good vintage though, will it?” she snapped, but took the proffered gift anyway. She spared a brief glance for Cora before she turned, her skirts swirling, to return to her sitting room. “Still, it will serve for Rego. For a wine merchant, he is pitiably easy to please when it comes to Westerosi wine.”

Jaime’s blood froze in his veins. “Again?” he asked, his voice sharp. The seven-times-damned man had visited every night this week.

Cersei looked over her shoulder and for a moment, she was almost as beautiful as she used to be. 

“Jealous?” she purred.

Jaime made a short, sharp, chopping gesture with his hand.

 _Cersei never did have any sense_ , he thought with a sudden burst of rage, _and her years in exile have not changed her reckless nature. That, or she’s forgotten that Cora is old enough now to tattle tales about what_ _is said in her hearing_ _._

“I am jealous of the amount of wine you drink, yes,” he said, a warning note in his voice. “Is there any left for me? My throat is parched from finding a gift I thought would please you.”

Cersei’s smile was cruel. “Of course. Rego and his friends will not be here for some time yet.” The look she slanted at him was sly. “He may even bring the Terys boy to make my acquaintance.”

Jaime kept his hand from clenching into a fist with an effort he prayed Cersei would not see.

“If the Terys boy arrives, then I expect to be offered an opportunity to inspect him for myself, Cersei, or I will know the reason why.”

Cersei barked a contemptuous laugh and swept into her sitting room, the door closing with a decided snap behind her.

Jaime put a slightly shaking hand on Cora’s shoulder. “Come, sweetling, let’s make you something to eat.”

“Who is the Terys boy, Papa?” Cora asked.

“No one you need to worry about,” Jaime said and thanked every god he knew that Cora was such a biddable child. She would stay well-hidden in their room if the men arrived before she was sound asleep in her bed.

He settled Cora on a chair at the table with the rag doll Verra had made for her then began to make something for all of them to eat. As he worked, Jaime’s thoughts turned once again to Lady B.

 _Almost four weeks_ , he thought, worry niggling at him. _Four weeks with_ _no_ _word._

For the first time, he wondered who, exactly, Lady B was, and if she had found a more suitable husband closer to home. Tyrion had assured him she was a lady whose reputation meant she would be unlikely to find a more appropriate suitor even after so many Houses were devastated after all the wars and the Long Night. As Lady of Storm’s End and Warden of the East, however, she was a sweet prize no matter what she may have done. Jaime’s only advantage, truly, was the fact there were not many highborn unmarried men left alive.

Still, if he knew who she was, he would be better able to determine if his suit had been rejected and she had not yet been able to send him word, or if he still had hope.

As he cut their small portion of meat into even smaller pieces and tossed them into the pot hanging above the fire, he searched his memory, trying to determine who might have been named Lady of Storm’s End in Gendry’s place. There was a Lord Buckler who had a daughter but as far as Jaime knew he was still alive, and Lady B was Lady of the Stormlands in her own right, not her father’s.

He frowned. Robert had bastards littered all over Westeros but Jaime seemed to recall rumors of a girl in the Riverlands who claimed to be the King’s daughter as she plied her trade. Jaime could not remember where he heard the story, only that the girl made the claim so she could fetch a higher price from her customers than she might have otherwise. Faint echoes of memory stirred in the back of his mind but the name of the girl escaped him.

There was also the girl in the Vale, the one Robert once thought to bring to King’s Landing until Cersei made him think twice. Her name was Mya, if Jaime recalled correctly, but if she was legitimized, she would be Lady Baratheon.

He paused. He had truly not thought of the _name_ of the woman he would marry if this desperate plan succeeded. It never mattered to him if the marriage meant Cora would be far from Cersei’s reach.

But _Baratheon_...a laugh escaped him, harsh, sharp, bitter.

Cora looked up. “Why are you laughing, Papa?”

Jaime gave her a smile and shook his head. “No reason,” he said. “Just a memory from a time long ago.”

Cora nodded and went back to babbling quietly to her doll and Jaime watched her for a moment before he realized she was posing and moving the doll in such a way that it was obviously sword fighting.

His heart clenched.

She was far too young for a blade to be put in her hand but Jaime wondered if she would prove to be as naturally talented as he had been.

If only her mother had been B...

He stopped.

That way lay madness and grief and guilt. He had shattered Brienne’s heart for a reason and while he knew he made the right decision—the proof of that was sitting in front him, smiling as she played—he wished there had been another way.

*/*/*/*/*

Rego Draz arrived with half a dozen other men, none of whom were members of the Terys family. Jaime confirmed this for himself before he graciously retired without protest to the room he shared with Cora. His daughter was already asleep, thank the gods, as he listened to the men’s voices boom through the house, even through their closed and barred door.

Cora was safe, for now, and Jaime returned to worrying at the problems caused by the lack of missives from Lady B and what he must do to keep from arousing Cersei’s suspicions. She already expected him to fail. It was the only reason she agreed to delay selling Cora to the highest bidder.

Jaime’s errands today should, however, push the moment when he must finally admit his failure—if he has indeed failed—until some time into the future. Assuming, of course, Illyrio would not betray him and that he could recreate the seal of the Lady of Storm’s End. 

Jaime shifted uneasily in his chair. Lies and manipulation never sat well on his shoulders even though he seemed destined to forever live his life as a lie. Uncle, not father. Brother, never lover. Kingslayer, never saviour. Lefford, not Lannister.

Cersei, not Brienne.

He turned and looked at Cora, innocent and sweet and utterly defenseless.

His heart ached for Brienne but if he had not left her that night in Winterfell, Cora would never have been born and he would not—could not—regret _her_.

 _Whatever I have to do_ , he thought, and wondered if his heart would actually burst from the love he felt for the first child he could claim. _I will stop at nothing to keep you safe._

Jaime quietly settled at the table, a small draught of Pentoshi wine close at hand. He pulled parchment, quill, and ink towards him.

In the next day or two he should receive a letter sealed with a sigil close enough to that of the Lady of the Stormlands to pass muster, and that will be enough to appease Cersei’s suspicions, at least for a time.

But _he_ needed something more than hope. He needed information. He needed _truth_.

He dipped the quill into the ink.

_Tyrion, Hand of the King of the Six Kingdoms, and Lord of Casterly Rock._

_I reach out to you to beg for news._

*/*/*/*/*


	13. Brienne VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Meriwyn.

“You would do well to remind yourself that you serve at _my_ pleasure, in _my_ castle and in _my_ lands,” Brienne gritted out while leveling Maester Basaol with in icy blue glare. He looked angry but had the decent sense to keep his mouth shut at the moment.

“I will say this only once more, I would like to speak with our guest, please have him brought here to my solar at once. You say he is awake and can move, he could most likely do with a bit of walking about and probably wants out of his sickbed.”

Maester Basaol let out a slow sigh through his nostrils and bowed his head slightly.

“As you wish, _my lady_ ,” he ground out her title with a shade of contempt in his voice. Brienne only stared back at him until he finally turned and left. She pounded her fist on her desk and flared her nostrils. She was really going to have to look into getting that cretin replaced. Maybe she could somehow lure Samwell Tarly away from King’s Landing.

About ten minutes later there was a knock on the door.

“Enter.”

The door opened and one of the servants from the maester’s quarters entered, with the young mystery knight trailing at her heels. The girl curtsied.

“My lady, as you requested.”

“Thank you, you may leave us.”

The girl left, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Brienne did her best to mask her emotions and took a few deep breaths as she sized up the man in front of her. He had been cleaned up, his hair washed, and it now fell in thick golden curls about his shoulders. His jaw was chiseled and had golden stubble growing along it, the light from the windows catching it and making it seem even brighter than it was. And his eyes…

Damn those eyes. It was like looking at _him_. In fact, everything about this man seemed to remind her of _him_. This man looked every inch a Lannister if ever there was one.

The knight bowed gallantly without taking his eyes off hers.

“Ser Brienne,” the corner of his mouth turned up in a way so reminiscent of Jaime that she had to briefly look away. Once again steeling herself inside her invisible armor, she looked back to him.

“Good Ser,” she gestured at a chair on the opposite side of her desk. “Please, sit.”

He obeyed. He was even graceful like Jaime, Brienne thought. Long, muscular legs, broad shoulders. This was going to be difficult.

“I hope you are healing well and that you have been treated kindly by our maester and his staff?”

He nodded his head. “Very well, yes, thank you, my lady ser.”

“So, what do they call you?”

He smiled at her. “ My name is Ser Byron.” He suddenly blushed and looked down. “They call me Byron the Beautiful.”

Brienne raised an eyebrow at him. “Do they now?”

Byron smiled and fixed her with his green eyes. “They do, and might I request to pay you the same compliment, my lady ser. Your hair is lovely, so fair, and your eyes really are as blue as sapphires like they were rumored to be.”

That took Brienne by surprise. She had figured his comments when he had arrived here had been due to fever or injury, she certainly hadn’t expected him to repeat them. She had let her hair grow since the Red Keep had fallen and it now fell past her shoulders in soft white-blonde waves, but this is the first time she could remember anyone actually mentioning it. Still, courtesy was courtesy.

“Thank you, good ser, that is kind of you to say.” She tried to change the subject back to his health. “They tell me you have broken ribs, a broken arm, and multiple bruises but that you are mending well and should be right as rain eventually. You may even be able to still participate in the tourney if you rest easy and not overdo it.”

“I will take whatever advice and comfort my good lady ser cares to offer,” his eyes sparkled and Brienne had to look away again.

_What is he playing at?_

She decided to go right for the meat of the issue. “Alright, you seem to have heard much about me, you even so much as said that I was ‘legendary’ when you arrived.”

“Indeed, my lady, you are well known throughout Westeros,” Byron shifted his weight in the chair and laid his right leg over his left. Brienne’s eyes dropped to his marvelous legs as he did so, and it was not lost on him. He gave her a smile that was none too innocent when her eyes went back up to his face.

He continued on. “The first woman to become a knight, the first Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, before you took up your duties here at Storm’s End, you are the stuff of songs and stories. I am pleased to see they were not wrong.”

Brienne could feel herself flush at his words. “We are having a feast tonight since we have so many guests staying here on their way to Bronzegate for the tourney. If you are feeling up to it, you are most welcome to join.”

“Might I request a seat near you, my lady?”

Brienne swallowed the lump in her throat. “If that is what you wish, I can arrange it thus.”

“I would be most honored and pleased,” his voice was low and smooth, just like someone else’s. Brienne stood up.

“Yes, well, until tonight then, Ser Byron.” She came around the desk to properly bid him farewell for now.

He stood and took her hand, bowing over it and gently brushing his lips against her knuckles. It sent jolts of electricity through Brienne’s body. “Until then, Lady Ser.”

Once Ser Byron had gone, Brienne paced the room, her heart pounding in her chest. She moved to stare out of the window at the fields beyond the castle. Byron had rattled her. It had been like looking at Jaime in all his youthful arrogance and beauty.

Snapping out of her reverie, she suddenly remembered her knight across the Narrow Sea. She had been neglectful in responding to him and she suddenly felt pangs of guilt over it. Was it because Byron had flirted with her? Most likely.

She felt she had betrayed Ser Lefford.

Rushing back over to her desk, she pulled out some parchment and reached for her quill.

_Dear Jaime,_

It pained her to write his name, but she felt the need to be more intimate with him right now.

 _My sincerest apologies in my lack of recent response._ _Things here have gotten a tad chaotic._ _There is a tourney to be held near here in a moon’s turn and we have many guests staying here that are passing through on their way to Bronzegate._ _We are actually having a feast tonight because we have so many here._

 _I hope this missive finds you and Cora well. I apologize for my bluntness and directness, but I am rather somewhat shaken at the moment._ _You will remember I had told you that the gods have not been kind to me when it comes to love._ _At the risk of being too forward or open, I sometimes wonder if I will ever truly be able to get over the love I lost._ _A young knight who was injured upon his travels has come to recuperate with us._ _Upon his arrival, he was in pain and I don’t believe completely coherent._ _He started showering me with compliments about my reputation and my beauty of all things._ _I have told you I am not fair to look upon, so I found his words empty._ _Words are wind, my father always said._ _He visited me again today, now that he is healing and much more himself._ _He spoke even more courtly words and even asked to sit near me at dinner._ _Why am I telling you all of this?_ _I don’t know, only that I trust you._ _I feel like you are kind and you understand, and I need to tell someone for fear I’ll go mad._

 _What bothers me the most is that he reminds me very much of my lost love._ _Long golden hair, emerald green eyes, chiseled features, tall, muscular._ _It unsettled me greatly and now I am restless and I am having feelings I thought were long buried._ _I don’t know what to do._

 _I also feel like somehow I betrayed you, and I don’t want there to be any dishonesty between us._ _I enjoy your words, they comfort me somehow._ _What is even more strange is that I found myself wanting this man to be you._ _Again, I apologize for my inappropriateness and directness._ _I just needed to feel you._

_Fondly,_

_B._

*/*/*/*/*


	14. Podrick I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by SeeThemFlying.

When Lady Brienne called him to her rooms, Podrick came as quickly as he could.

“Ah, Pod,” she smiled. “I need you to have these letters delivered for me.” She held them out to him; the first looked like it had been sitting on her desk for some time, while the second was fresh. Both were addressed to _Ser Jaime Lefford._

“Would it not be easier for Maester Basaol…?”

“No,” said Lady Brienne forcefully. “If I don’t need to involve him I won’t. And in matters of the… matters of state, I do not need him.”

Pod nodded. “Yes my lady. Are they going to Pentos?”

She blushed slightly. “Yes. Send them by raven to the harbour master. He knows what to do.”

“Certainly my lady. I have a letter I need to send myself, so I will do so right away.”

Pod gave her a little bow and went to make his exit, but she spoke again. “Pod, what do you make of Ser Byron?”

Podrick paused; he had been one of the men who had found the poor knight in a ditch, severely injured, but had not spent two minutes in the man’s company while he was fully conscious. But even so, Podrick could see it. The young knight was the spitting image of Jaime Lannister and, if Pod knew anything about his lady, she would find the sight very difficult to resist.

Podrick mulled on his words for a moment. “I think he seems very… blond.” She laughed at that. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just wondered if you had spoken with him at all. It’s just that I…” she paused. “He seems very keen to compliment me and, although I don’t believe his flattery true for a moment, he is a tourney knight. From little inquiries I made it seems he has some skill… and I wondered whether he would be suitable for the position of Master at Arms. We are in need of one after all.”

 _Ah,_ though Podrick sadly, _my lady wants to look on Jaime Lannister still, even though he’s not here, even though he’s dead, even though she can only look on a shadow._

Podrick nodded. “I will keep my ear to the ground, my lady.”

“Very good,” she replied. “I assume I will see you at the feast.”

“Of course. Good day.”

With that, Podrick went back to his own room to pick up the letter he needed to send. It was a response to an informal little note that Tyrion had sent him some days ago:

_Dear Pod,_

_I hope the weather in the Stormlands is serving you well. I’m sick to death of the heat in King’s Landing; I almost wish for a return of the Others so at least I could have some ice in my drinks!_

_I am writing to inquire about the Lady Brienne. As you probably know, she is in an epistolary struggle for the heart of one Ser Jaime Lefford, an exiled knight in Pentos. I have had correspondence from him suggesting that she has been a little_ lax _lately in sending him letters, and I wanted to ask you if you knew the reason why. I am anxious for Lady Brienne and Ser Lefford to eventually become betrothed – I have a feeling in my gut that they are meant to be, and I am therefore keenly interested in the progress of their courtship._

_I hope to see you soon,_

_Yours, Tyrion._

Podrick had been a little confused about why Tyrion was so set on seeing Lady Brienne and this Ser Lefford wed, but he assumed it must be some great political power game, or that King Bran had some sort of weird vision that foretold a line of great knights that would come from their union. Either way he trusted Tyrion, so he had written back telling him the truth about Ser Byron.

 _And the reason I think she is so distracted,_ Podrick had concluded, _is because he reminds her so very much of your brother._

Once he had his response in hand, Podrick went up to the tower where they kept the ravens. He thought for a moment about sending Lady Brienne’s letters to the harbour master first and then waiting for the raven to return – it wouldn’t be long – but he felt that Tyrion was probably anxious for news, so settled on two ravens.

When he got up to the tower, however, he paused. He wasn’t alone. Standing by the window, attaching a little scroll to a raven’s leg, was Ser Byron. Pod shrunk into the shadows, not sure what to make of the scene. Once Ser Byron had finished tying the letter, he gave the raven a slow stroke before whispering, “Fly quickly. She needs news.”

In a moment the raven was in the air, disappearing into the sky. At that, Ser Byron turned away from the window and made his way back down the stairs opposite Pod. Only once he was gone did Pod walk forward and begin to send his own letters.

 _How odd,_ he thought.

*/*/*/*/*


	15. Jaime VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by SunshineFromMyHeart.

7 days had passed, on the 8th morning he received a letter. Instructions were clear, should any more missives be addressed to him, they should be delivered in person.

The bit of trust in his sister was long gone, anxiety slowly growing inside him by days. As if his silent prayers had been answered, they had called him by the harbor once more as the sun was setting.

The first one was from his brother, he instantly knew for the seal for their private correspondence was a random and bland T debossed on wax. No one would suspect that behind, hid the powerful hand of the King.

_Jaime,_

_I hope this letter will find you and well, our sister safe, I admit I have not been overflowing with my correspondences for fear of awaking inquisitiveness, I have to use every subterfuge to have them delivered anonymously._

_About the situation you mentioned, it is disappointing yet not surprising, I can’t help but feel accountable for your entrapment. That_ _**night**_ _I failed you as a brother._

_Be assured, I will do everything in my power to support you in your courting of Lady B._

_Let me know if I can do anything,_

_I send my Love to my niece,_

_Your brother,_

_About that pupil of yours, you said his father was a wealthy Pentoshi merchant, what kind of flourishing commerce does he manage? Cheese? Wine? When we meet in Storm End’s make sure to provide a package of the latter if possible._

The words from his brother, would appease his heart for the day at least. Well aware that some things were left unspoken between them, he appreciated to have at least a sure ally during these times.

His feelings were not as certain for the two following correspondences. His Lady had finally responded. Not once, but twice.

If the first letter consisted of the usual exchanges he was accustomed to, the subsequent one left him confused.

 _I also feel like somehow I betrayed you, and I don’t want there to be any dishonesty between us._ _I enjoy your words, they comfort me somehow._ _What is even more strange is that I found myself wanting this man to be you._ _Again, I apologize for my inappropriateness and directness._ _I just needed to feel you._

 _Jaime_ she had written. _Finally, you’re revealing yourself to me Lady B_ , he thought, as unidentified feelings crept inside him. Feelings he didn’t want and would do his best to push away, he need not hurt another unsuspecting sincere woman.

For the time being, he put all his efforts into convincing Cersei that everything was going well and that soon enough, he and his daughter would be able to enjoy their freedom and she, her gold.

“Are you done?” He asked as the little girl was gulping down the remaining of her soup. “I thought you didn’t like soup?”

“I don’t!” She answered proudly placing her empty plate back on the table “But I want to grow big and strong like the first Lady Knight!”

“Where does this come from?”

“I eavesdropped on your lesson to Syros” She confessed. “Aunt _Cer_ … Cecilia” she hastily corrected herself “says it is time I behaved more like a Lady… But what does a Lady do? All she does is admiring herself in beautiful dresses, brush her hair and drink that red beverage.”

He observed her, amazed, pride swelling in him, maybe he could do something right in this life after all.

“You’re a very smart girl you know that? Come on, let us be on our way.”

As they exited the modest establishment a body collided into him. He could have sworn the mystery woman, head covered, face hidden by the shadow of her hood had done it on purpose.

His first reflex, was to extend his arm in front of his daughter gently guiding her behind his own body, in case they meant harm but the mysterious person had grabbed his arm and whispered.

_“Please ser, follow me.”_

Though barely a whisper, he recognized the friendly voice thus followed, as she guided him to a dark alley nearby.

“Verra, what is this about?” He asked as she revealed herself, her face unsure, eyes elusive, fingers rubbing against each other. She was afraid. He felt Cora tense up, tightening her grip on his arm.

“You sister visited me … She gave me money… She told me…” She hesitated

“Do not worry I won’t do you any harm.” Jaime did his best not to alarm her, though himself felt a surge of panic inside his stomach at the mention of Cersei.

“You have always been so nice to me when other lads mistreated me, I could not partake in her shenanigans, she has a plan to leave with your daughter… She told me that once Cora would be gone, you would be free to consider courting me …” Uttering the last sentence, she felt ashamed: a small part of her had liked what she had heard that day, and maybe, had even contemplated the offer.

“I’m so sorry ser Lefford, I wish I had the strength to have come to you sooner but your sister she...She’s frightening she would observe me every day, I feared for my life.”

 _And she would get rid of you, without a hesitation_ … Poor girl, he knew how fearsome Cersei could be, he also knew more than others what she was capable of.

“She demanded I offer myself to take Cora while you tutor tomorrow. I was to take the child to her… Please don’t hate me ser!”

“Thank you, Verra,” Jaime lacked the time to feel miserable, to wallow in self-pity, needless to say, he lacked the time to curse his dreadful sister.

He had known it would eventually come to this, but never suspected it would happen so soon.

They paid a carriage to Syros’s father’s house, in the Golden district. It was late, but thankfully Gyllero had a taste for celebration and was currently entertaining a couple of guests. Jaime had never accepted any of his invitation thus was greeted with great pleasure by the merchant at the outside steps.

The man was a round of face, good-natured fellow, with thick curly black hair and an equally black long beard. He reminded him a bit of Robert, on his good days.

Jaime explained in haste that they would rather not be seen amongst the guests, and he wanted to settle the arrangement they had discussed the previous days.

They had to be discreet: no one should know about the journey except the people present. A ship was leaving at dawn and Gyllero could easily arrange for them to board. The captain was a good friend of his, a man he could entrust the pair to. To repay the favor, Syros was to be fostered in a great House.

A handshake and a slap on the back from Gyllero later, they parted ways, not before the latter had insisted to offer them a beverage again. The old knight and the servant, what a curious pair he had laughed.

Unsuspecting Cora was long gone in her dreams when they left the wealthy district, and clearly had no intention of awakening even as he shifted her from his painful shoulder to the other one.

They reached the deserted market across their humble manse in silence.

“Ser, your daughter will be safe, you can finally offer her safety, yet you do not seem pleased?” Verra tentatively asked.

Trapped in his inner turmoil, he had not noticed the young servant still beside him.

A thousand unanswerable questions tormented him, He had left once, only to find himself trapped again. Harming innocent beings in the process, would Verra suffer the consequences of his egotistical choice- _like her_? Could this man stand proudly in front of Lady B and hold her gaze?

His family, his twin, were his own to take care of, only him should suffer the consequences. Certainly not a poor servant who had taken a liking in him, nor his daughter.

“Verra, you should go home, I am sorry I brought you into this. My family… is complicated.” He sighed as it dawned on him he could not run away again.

“I can accompany her.” She simply stated, sensing his inner struggle.

Whilst he considered her, stunned, she went on, “If you can trust me, ser, I would do this for you because…” _I love you_ she thought “you’re a good man, and I feel you would have done the same for me.”

“What of your life here? Your parents?”

“What life? I’m a burden for my parents, I have nothing but the rags I have on, the best part of my days were when I chanced upon you. If I can repay your gentleness by taking your daughter safely to that Lady. I shall do it.”

Resolute, never had she looked more like _her_ at this moment, he stood wordless rooted on his spot. And as she ran away in the night, he realized he hadn’t even thanked her.

Jaime arrived to an empty home, his sister probably securing her arrangement some place.

Only when he laid one last time next to the small bedding, that it dawned on him: the person he loved the most, for whom he had lived and endured all the hardship for was leaving.

*/*/*/*/*

The port was slowly coming to life, it would be a bright and beautiful morning. Mostly traders and merchants were already at work, readying themselves to sail away.

“Let us go over it once again”

“My name is Cora Lefford…” She started with all the assurance a girl her age could muster.

“My father is Ser Jaime Lefford, My mother died in childbirth… I…” Her shoulder started shaking“ I…” She wanted to please him but the words were caught in her throat.

“Come on you can do this.” He encouraged nodding slowly his green eyes never leaving hers.

“No, I can’t! You promised we would see the Sapphire Isle together on our way to Storm’s End!” Her eyes were fluttering with tears.

“I told you I do not have a choice right now, but I will be with you soon, I swear.” He answered holding her shoulder with his left hand.

“I don’t understand why Aunt Cersei hates me so much?”

“Forget this name, you must never say her name? Do you understand?” She nodded, she knew. Her father had secrets, she had grown up knowing that some names shouldn’t be pronounced out in the open.

“This lady, what if she doesn’t like me?” She asked burying her face near his heart.

“She will like you… Have no fear. Also your uncle will visit, remember what I said about him?”

“That he was the funniest and would love me as his own?”

“He will take care of you.”

“Our cabin is ready Cora, I even brought a small bed for your doll, look” She brandished a small wooden bed the perfect size for the toy.

“We have to embark, ser” the captain appeared following Verra. He had special words from Gyllero, he was to be extra careful with these particular passengers. Jaime observed him, he seemed like a good person.

Jaime pulled out the sealed parchment from the inside of his vest. “Deliver this to Lady B, no one else” As the servant acquiesced he took her hand in his, causing her to blush up to her ear, then lowered his head until his lips grazed the back of her callous extremity “Be safe. I shall not forget this.”

He knelt one last time, allowing his daughter to observe him, memorize his face, his eyes, his smile.

Cora thought he always smiled even when he was sad, always smiled even when Aunt Cersei was furious at him, always smiled even though he was tired. She could smile too, even if she didn’t want to. And so she did.

He almost cried when they boarded the broad vessel, waited on the pier until the boat was but a small dot on the horizon. Part of him felt relieved, while the other part missed her smile already. He had never believed in the Gods, old or new. But he surprised himself asking them to protect his most precious treasure.

*/*/*/*/*


	16. Jaime IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Clearance_Unicorn.

“She insisted,” Jaime said. His smile felt odd and familiar on his face at the same time: his old smile, the smile of a younger man who didn’t care, who _wouldn’t_ care, who used words and smiles and swords for only one purpose, to _cut_.

Cersei slapped him, and then slapped him again, nails raking his cheek. “You dare! You dare!”

Jaime caught her wrist, as gently as he could, although he longed to tighten his grip until she cried in pain and then fling her away from him. “You want an army, don’t you? Who will give you an army for a little girl? The Warden of the East _has_ an army, and if I wed her, what’s hers will be mine.”

Cersei stopped struggling, slowly. Jaime could almost see the thoughts moving behind her alcohol-addled eyes. “And what’s yours is mine, Jaime. We are one person, after all.”

He swallowed bile. “So it’s best to give this lady what she wants, isn’t it?” he said, careful to avoid actually agreeing, as he steered her back to the table and set her in a chair. He let go of her and poured wine into a cup. “Here. Quench your thirst.”

He had to sit and listen to her rant and ramble for an interminable time until she was too drunk to know whether he was there or not, and then he made his escape.

Lady B’s letters waited for him in his room. The one he had sent with Cora was no answer to either of them, it was purely about his daughter and her circumstances and Verra. And if he thought any longer on his small, solemn daughter somewhere out on the sea, Jaime would weep, and if there was one lesson his father had thrashed into him in his childhood it was the unmanliness of tears.

The two letters from Lady B were not written at the same time. The wax that sealed one was clearly older than the other, which relieved Jaime somewhat. _She_ did _write promptly, but one letter went astray._

He opened the oldest first again and scanned it. Lady B set out her terms and the test he needed to pass to win her hand more clearly than ever before: confirm that he could offer her _a steady mind, helpful advice, and continual support_. Next, two questions, one about her Maester and one about a Master-at-Arms, both of which Jaime supposed he had to answer helpfully to demonstrate to Lady B he would be of use to her. _Well, I can certainly try._

He set that page aside and turned to the next. An apology, an explanation – he reached the next paragraph and began to frown. _A lost love … young knight … compliments …_ Jaime’s lips thinned. This _young knight_ was clearly a handsome fellow, at least in his Lady B’s eyes. _I don’t know what to do_ , she wrote.

_Toss his out on his muscular rear, that’s what you should do, Lady B._

He tried to find some comfort in her final words, but it was thin and weak. All too obviously, what Lady B wished was that this golden-haired, emerald-eyed scoundrel was a suitable marriage candidate. _Comfort_. What was the sort of comfort a maimed, aging cripple could offer compared to a fair face and a strong young body and a silver tongue? What was fondness, set beside sweet compliments?

Jaime set both letters side-by-side and sat thinking. How best to cast doubt on the character and intentions of this mysterious knight? He had spent enough years at court to know every one of the ways to seed doubt and sow dissension so subtly it was undetectable, although he’d never lowered himself to do so. _No, that was Cersei’s trick, and Littlefinger’s, and Varys._ Well, there was always a first time.

He found blank parchment, dug out his quill, and began.

_Lady B,_

_I am flattered to be the one you turn to in such upsetting circumstances. I do understand how unsettling it can be to have strangers beneath your roof behaving in ways that seem suspicious and that, to a suspicious mind, might even hint at hidden motives._

Jaime read back what he’d written. There was a foul taste in his mouth, as if he’d just been sick. _Hidden motives_. Well, that certainly applied to him, didn’t it? He’d told Lady B about Cora, but not about _himself_ , not that he was offering for her hand as the most reviled man in Westeros and the man who’d committed high treason by fucking his sister.

He set the quill down, folded the parchment and tore off the top, holding the strip over the candle until it caught and charred to ash.

_Lady B_ , he began again.

_I am glad to know that only the pleasant circumstances of guests, feasts, and compliments delayed your response._

_By time this reaches you, my daughter and Verra will be there. I have set them both on this course in the confidence that the kindness I sense in your words is a reflection of your character. Cora I have told you about: Verra is a young woman who has minded Cora when needed for years. She is kind, and good, and courageous, and I ask you to be kind to her as well, although I didn’t ask before imposing her on you. Cora loves her, and she loves Cora, and although she is not as pretty as some young women her nature is sweet, and true._

_It seems I endlessly ask and ask of you and there is nothing I can offer in return, so let me at least try to offer a satisfactory response to your last letters._

_Permit me to go about my reply backwards. You asked me to agree that love has no place in these letters, but since you raise the subject, I will take the liberty of addressing it once more. I do not know if you will ever get over the love you have lost. I am certain I will never get over mine. I can say that I would not have Cora if I had been wise enough to grasp what was offered to me, so I suppose I must be grateful to have been a fool. Whatever husband you choose, I hope your marriage will bring you children, not because a woman of your rank requires heirs but because to love a child and be loved by one, to watch them grow and change and bloom, is a joy – one you deserve, and one that may help you ache less over the love you lost. Although, I admit, it has not truly done so for me, only provided me with a small and energetic distraction from my self-pity and self-flagellation._

_I know what it’s like to see the echo of a loved face. A pleasure, as if the person stands before you again – as if, for an instant, you have a chance, again, to say what you wish you had said, to do as you wish you’d done. And then a pain, when they move or speak and the illusion breaks and you lose your love all over again._

_I am sure you deserve all the compliments this young man showers on your reputation. Since I have only your own words to guide me in regards to your appearance, may I simply say that you may not be as unfavoured as you think, and even if you are, a loved face is a face we love to look upon. My dear love was not a beautiful woman, but I would give a great deal to look on her again, outside my dreams._

_Alas, my lady, although I am flattered that you wish me to be, I am no young fair-haired knight, although my eyes are green. I am ageing, greying, dulled by time and worn by life. And in truth, I have never had the gift of compliments, having little curb on my tongue._

_Now let me turn to the problems you wrote of – your Maester, and your Master-at-Arms. The second, and simplest, first. You wrote of a tourney. There will doubtless be many younger sons and hedge knights seeking to enrich themselves. One of these will likely be the man you need. He will not necessarily be the victor in either the melee or the joust, or even among the final few, although you will want him to have skill. As well as watching, though, move around the tourney before and after. The man you look for will have a squire or squires who are quick, and obedient, but not frightened. They will be both competent and confident, and you will hear him explain to them the intricacies of the contest. He will be older than most, a man whose skills are greater, now, than his strength. His horses might not be the finest, but they will be well cared for and they will obey him willingly, without fear. When you speak to him, or his squires, they will be respectful but not obsequious. You will know him when you meet him, I assure you._

_Now, your troublesome Maester. I presume you have tried, and failed, to have him replaced._

_I must caution you, when considering my opinion, that I have never met a Maester I entirely approved of nor one who even slightly approved of me. Without meeting him, I can’t judge which of several possibilities to explain his attitude to you. He may, indeed, be a miserable old bore foolish enough to think you incapable because of your sex, but you are not the only woman to head her House after the wars Westeros has seen, and not uncommon now or in the past for a wife to stand for her husband in his absence._ _It has been my experience that, for all the famed neutrality of the Citadel, the neutrality of individual Maesters varies quite widely. They are mostly, after all, younger sons of various houses, and it is not as easy to shed one’s loyalty to family as is often assumed. I would advise a subtle watch upon your ravens, to see if he sends messages not directed by you, and if so, in which direction they fly._

_My personal approach to a Maester who plagued me as yours clearly does you would be to threaten to toss him off the nearest battlement, but I suspect I have an advantage over you in that regard, as a man many would believe entirely capable of doing just that. There is an odd paradox that the more willing one is to carry out a threat, the less likely it is one will have to. Regardless, you will not be able to make him your friend, whether he is simply a fool or more sinisterly motivated. And, either way, if he treats you with disdain, if he speaks to you with less than the full respect you are owed, he seeks to provoke you – whether to confirm his judgement of your unsuitability or to push you towards unwise decisions made in anger. I have never been good at enduring provocation without answering it, but then, I have always had a store of insults ready to provoke in turn. If you can’t fight fire with fire, may I suggest, respond with ice. Think of something pleasant, somewhere calm, and keep it in your mind when you deal with him. Your home, if you loved it, your family, if you loved them. You will find it easier to be cool and collected when you deal with him if you have gone away inside to somewhere that makes you happy._

_And now I have filled three pages. I hope something in all these words is of use to you. I wish you well in your dealing with this fair young man and his courtesies, and with dealing with your difficulties. If it please you, I would be glad to hear the outcomes. In truth, I look forward to your letters a great deal._

Jaime paused. _Fondly? Affectionately?_ Neither felt entirely right.

_With my_ ~~_best_~~ ~~_strongest_~~ ~~_fondest_~~ _most affectionate hopes for your continued health and happiness, and my gratitude for your kindness and generosity to my daughter and her companion,_

_Jaime_

*/*/*/*/*


	17. Brienne VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by SeeThemFlying.

Brienne had expected answers to her two letters from Ser Jaime; instead, she got a little girl. When news came that there were visitors from Pentos for her, Brienne had sent Maester Basaol to the harbour to receive them. Basaol escorted the girl and her nurse up to Brienne’s room. “An _emissary_ from Ser Jaime Lefford,” said the Maester, clearly thinking he was being witty, “and his bastard daughter.”

Brienne fixed her Maester with a level look, trying to keep her tongue. “That will be all, Basaol,” she said. He gave her a stiff nod before departing, leaving the girl and her maid standing in the room before the Lady of Storm’s End.

As Cora was snuggled up asleep in the maid’s arms, Brienne turned to the girl first. “Good day,” she said. “How can I help you?”

The girl gave a stiff bow, which was difficult with the child in her arms, before walking forward and depositing a letter on the table in front of Brienne. “I have a letter for you, my lady, from Ser Jaime Lefford.”

Brienne looked down at it; it was done with none of the care and attention of the previous letters, as the wax did not have a seal. She ripped it open, suddenly anxious.

_Lady B,_

_I am sorry to write in such haste and with such ill manners, but I have nowhere else to turn. We previously spoke of my daughter Cora, and it is to you I now entrust her care. Verra is with her. Forces are gathering that would have Cora torn limb from limb, and I would not see that happen for all the world._

_I beg of you to take pity on her. She is a young child in a strange land with no friends. She is the only piece of me that has ever been any good. Make her your ward, foster her, make her your maid, whatever you wish, but please keep her safe. Safe and happy._

_In sending her to you, I entrust you with my heart and soul._

_Jaime_

Brienne swallowed. Those words – _I entrust you with my heart and soul_ – struck her to the core. Jaime had said them to her once when they were wrapped up in furs on a cold night in Winterfell in between kisses. She tucked the letter into her shirt, unable to look at it, but also, strangely, wanting it near. Then, she raised her eyes to the girl.

“Have you read his letter?” asked Brienne.

The girl shook her head. “I can’t read, my lady.”

Brienne nodded. “This letter informs me that the child you carry is Cora Lefford, daughter of Ser Jaime Lefford. Unfortunately, it says little about you.”

The girl’s face flickered with disappointment. “My name is Verra, my lady. Ser Jaime sent me to watch over his daughter on the journey to Storm’s End. I was also in danger in Pentos and Ser Jaime did me a service by sending me to you.”

Brienne grimaced; what were these dangers lurking in Pentos? Brienne thought to probe the point further, but Verra looked scared, so she tried to change the topic to something friendlier.

“I have not met Ser Lefford,” said Brienne slowly, “even though we keep correspondence. What do you think of the man?”

“He’s… he’s… the only person who has ever been kind to me, my lady.” Verra’s eyes brimmed with tears. “My father never spared the rod, and my mother always chided me for being ugly and awkward. We’re poor, you see, and the only way out is to make a respectable marriage, but how could I when…” Verra signalled to her face, and Brienne felt a sympathetic pang so deep it hurt her heart.

Verra took a breath, trying to steady her voice. “The goldsmith I worked as a servant for was a harsh man and a little… over familiar, but he often sent me to run errands for him. I met Ser Jaime in the market one day. Some boys were laughing at me, throwing mud and saying I looked like a horse, but Ser Jaime stopped them. Once they were gone, he bought a flower from a passing flower girl and threaded it in my hair and told me not to worry; some people can truly see what is on the inside.”

The girl had gone red and her eyes were shining with memory; Brienne only had to look at her to tell that she was deeply in love with Ser Jaime Lefford.

“And this is his daughter…”

“Yes,” said Verra, stepping forward. At the sudden movement, little Cora woke up.

“Papa?” she said sleepily.

Brienne rose from her desk. “Hello Cora,” she said gently. Cora turned to look at her, and Brienne was greeted by a pair of the most beautiful green eyes. She couldn’t say no. “My name is Brienne, how are you?”

“Good,” said the little girl gently, before suddenly realising this was an unfamiliar room and she wasn’t in Pentos and she couldn’t see her father. “Where is my doll?” she said, fear rising in her voice, tears threatening.

“Your Maester took it off her,” said Verra. “He said it was not fitting to be carrying rags while in the presence of a great lady.”

Brienne rolled her eyes before leaning close to Cora and saying sweetly, “I think Maester Basaol has it. Shall you, Verra and I go find it?”

The tears abated as Cora nodded and let out a little smile.

***/*/*/***

That night, Brienne decided to settle Verra and Cora into life at Storm’s End the only way she knew how. She invited them to her room and had the cook send up some bread, cheese, grapes, and Pentoshi wine. Alongside this feast, she sent for Pod.

“Pod,” she said when he arrived, “will you send for the harpist? I wish to hear some music.” Pod turned to leave, but then Brienne added, “and… and… Ser Byron. I think we are in need of high spirits tonight.”

Cora was laid out on the floor in front of the fire with her doll, making it run up and down the carpet then bounce on the little wooden bed. When Verra and Cora had first appeared, Brienne had been so afraid that she would not be able to do what Ser Jaime had asked of her, but the girl was such an innocent that Brienne could not help but want to save her from whatever darkness held her father captive in Pentos.

_Protect the innocent. Protect the weak._

When Pod returned with the two men, the harpist instantly set himself up on a chair in the corner of the room. “Any requests, my lady?”

“No sad songs,” insisted Brienne.

Byron smiled. “What about _The Bear and the Maiden Fair?_ That always livens spirits.”

Brienne was suddenly back in Harrenhal, a great bear looming over her. Then there was Jaime – swordless, handless – leaping into the pit to save her. It had been the only time in her life that a man had ever let her play the Maiden Fair of the songs she so loved as a child… and in return, she had adored him for it.

Lost in memory, Brienne looked into Byron’s green eyes hoping to see Jaime and, when her beloved gazed back, she acquiesced. The harpist strummed the first few notes and then began to sing. “A bear there was, a bear, a bear. All black and brown and covered in hair.”

“My lady,” smiled Ser Byron, extending his hand towards her. “It would please me most greatly if the most beautiful lady in the Six Kingdoms would dance with me.”

Brienne blushed as red as she had when she had danced with Renly Baratheon. She cursed herself. _You are in charge,_ she told herself. _He is here at your pleasure, and what is wrong with wanting to see him dance?_

“No thank you, Ser Byron,” said Brienne. “I am a little tired, but maybe Verra would wish to accompany you?”

Verra’s eyes went wide. “But… but… my lady…”

It was too late. Ser Byron pulled Verra to her feet and was whirling her around in time with the harpist’s merry song in a moment. Pod began to clap, adding percussion to the strings and was soon joined by a laughing Cora. Brienne felt herself pulled into the game.

Brienne could only watch as Byron and Verra were dancing, illuminated by firelight. Byron and Verra were smiling. Byron and Verra were laughing. Jaime held Verra in his arms. Jaime taught Verra certain steps. Jaime’s hand was on Brienne’s waist. Jaime’s eyes were only for Brienne. Jaime and Brienne were the only two people in the world.

When the song ended, Brienne re-entered the room, leaving her daydreams behind as Byron and Verra came back into focus.

*/*/*/*/*


	18. Jaime X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Diesis.

Gyllero's laughter boomed in the sunny courtyard. His curly tuft fell over his eyes, and he moved it away with his right hand, before outstretching his arm, so that Jaime could help him to stand.

"My friend, please tell me you were one of the best Westerosi swordsmen, so my ego won't be as bruised as my backside..."

Jaime's smile didn't reach his eyes, but the merchant was too busy wiping away the dust from his sparring clothes to notice it.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that..." he lied "and furthermore I hardly am as good as I was with my right hand..."

Gyllero laughed again, and patted him on the shoulder. "I'm hopeless, ain't I? You knocked me down three times this morning."

"Four!!!" Zayra, Gyllero's wife whooped from a bench near the archway that led to the garden. The same bench Cora used to sit on while Jaime taught either the merchant or young Syros. _Five days_ , he thought, _and still no news from the Stormlands._

Gyllero looked at Zayra feigning a scowl.

"When I was young I had a Braavosi teacher, and I always thought that it was the fighting style that didn't suit me well... now I know that fighting _itself_ doesn't suit me well!"

Jaime just shrugged.

"Anyway, it's a funny way to keep me fit." Gyllero continued, picking up again his wooden sword. "And my wife, well, did I ever tell you that she was a curer before I married her? And oh, she still likes to _tend my wounds_ , if you get what I mean!" He added in a lower voice, smirking.

Jaime lowered his gaze. He got exactly the bawdy hint in Gyllero's words, but his mind wandered somewhere else, far away from the rammed earth yard of Pentos, and back to a room in Winterfell.

_There hadn't been anything bawdy, anything even remotely lewd back then. Everything they had done during those weeks had been innocent - pure, almost. On their first night, what happened after that first kiss was a blurry chaos of mouths and skin and touching and breathing and calling - whispering, screaming - each other's name._

_She had slept quietly by his side, but when he woke up in the morning she was already gone, and then had awkwardly tried to avoid him for the whole day._

_He knocked again at her door that evening, and her face was indecipherable. But she let him in._

_"It's alright." She said, adding a log to the fire, without looking at him. "We were drunk and euphoric and I didn't do anything that I didn't want and you don't have to..."_

_"Brienne." He interrupted her. No need for titles, not anymore. She had to meet his gaze. "Brienne, is it what you want it to be, a boozy hookup?"_

_"Isn't it what_ you _want it to be?" She asked back, her eyes so blue he could have hung stars inside them._

_He swallowed and shook his head. "No."_

_He raised his hand and caressed her blouse under her neck. He knew the marks of the bear hidden by the fabric. She knew he knew._

_And then suddenly she was brushing the old scar on his eyebrow, removing his golden hand, his clothes and his boots, until he was naked again in front of her. He hadn't felt exposed. He had felt_ safe.

_And then she lowered her head and kissed lightly his collarbone, where the edge of the armour had left an angry wound during the battle. No maester could ever heal him in the way her lips did._

_And then..._

The wooden sword hit the ground with a thud, and Zayra cheered and clapped her hands. "Well done, husband!!!"

Gyllero looked incredulously at the sword he still held in his grip, then at Jaime's flushed face.

"Oh, I understand. Don't be worried about your daughter, Ser Jaime. I'm sure she's already in Storm's End. It just takes some time for the ship to come back and confirm it."

Jaime was suddenly too embarrassed to contradict him.

"Since we're speaking about children, I've something to propose you..." The merchant said, dismissing his wife with a wink and tossing the practice swords in a corner. Then he sat with Jaime near the fountain and they started to clean their faces from the dirt.

Jaime braced himself. He liked the man and, to a certain extent, trusted him, but Gyllero was able to sell sand to a Dothraki and sea water to a sailor, and he was not in the right mood to discuss business in that moment. Furthermore, he owed him Cora's safety, and dreaded what the dealer could ask him in exchange.

"Two days ago I spoke with another merchant at a meeting of our guild, and he talked to me about a great tournament that will take place in the Stormlands next week. He's leaving tomorrow morning to go there with a couple of his ships. He plans to make some commercial agreement with a Westerosi man, and to promote his products with all the wealthy families at the feast, so I thought... you promised that Syros will be fostered by a noble house, and I know he has a soft spot for knights... wouldn't it be great if he could attend at the tourney? Of course, he won't fight, but he can observe the champions and meet them, so we can arrange his fostering with the one he prefers."

Jaime sputtered the water he was drinking.

"Oh, I know, I know, I'm spoiling him, but I want the best for my boy, like any father does!"

"I'm not... I mean... Syros is smart and mature for his age, but I don't think he's adult enough to make such a delicate decision on his own."

"That's why you'll go with him! This way, you will advise him and you can already make a deal with the suitable candidate. And you'll be able to meet both Cora and your betrothed, because the Lady of Storm's End will surely be there. It's a perfect plan, isn't it? What could go wrong?"

*/*/*/*/*

What could go wrong? Jaime kept on asking himself the same question all the way home. _Everything_ could go wrong.

Cersei wasn't going to let him leave without throwing a tantrum - if she was going to let him leave at all.

Someone at the tournament could recognise him.

He hadn't the time to alert Lady B. of his arrival, and he was not sure she would be prepared to meet him. Certainly, _he_ was not prepared to meet her. What if she didn't like him? And, worse, what if she _did_ like him?

His thoughts went back to Brienne. _How will I be able to bed another woman without saying your name every time I kiss her, my love?_

He sent back the tears that came to his eyes. _Cora, think of Cora, not of your damn self._ He repeated when he opened the door of his house.

*/*/*/*/*

The ship was ready at the dock, not far from where he had said goodbye to his daughter few days before. Syros walked silently at his side, still half asleep, while Gyllero filled the thin air of the morning with his chatter.

Cersei had been far easier to convince than he had thought. She had even said that his trip was going to be useful, because it would speed up both his marriage and her reward. Maybe she was just drunk enough, but Jaime decided not to push his luck, and locked himself in his chamber as soon as she had agreed, lest she changed her mind.

He didn't wake her up to see him off.

Next to the ship, a tall, fat man supervised the loading of the shipment. A woman stood by his side, clad in an ochre cloak rimmed with golden embroidery. _The merchant's wife._

Her dark hair was braided in the Pentoshi style, and her figure looked somewhat familiar. As they moved closer to the jetty, an unsettling feeling settled in Jaime's stomach, and it exploded when finally the couple turned to them.

"Rego!" Gyllero shouted merrily, waving his hand. "Here we are! Meet my son, Syros, and his teacher, Ser Jaime Lefford!"

Rego Graz shook forcefully the boy's hand and then put an arm around Jaime's shoulder.

"I already know Ser Lefford! He's the brother of my travel companion, Lady Cecilia."

Cersei curtsied to Gyllero and smiled at him, her eyes shone archly under her dyed fringe.

Everything _would_ go wrong.

*/*/*/*/*


	19. Brienne VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Meriwyn.

They weren’t called the Stormlands without reason. Brienne lay in bed in her large chambers, listening to the rain splattering against the windows and the thunder rolling across the fields. The lightning lit up the dark room every half minute or so. This storm was a good one.

The fire in the hearth was still burning brightly she noted, which was a good thing since she had no desire to get up to stoke it. So she lay there listening, the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the storm outside. Her thoughts began to stray. There was too much happening at once for her liking. First this mysterious and somewhat unsettling Ser Byron arrives, and now totally unexpectedly she found herself the caretaker of Ser Jaime Lefford’s three-year-old daughter.

Who also seemed to possess eerily similar Lannister eyes and golden hair.

Was every new person to cross her path to be a cruel reminder of Jaime? Brienne sighed loudly and tried to focus on something else. Her mind kept going back to Cora however, no matter how hard she tried.

It had only been a week since the girl and her maid had arrived, but Brienne found it had taken surprisingly little time to become quite taken with her. Cora seemed to like her as well, and always wanted to follow her around and ask her for stories. Brienne understood the girl was most likely frightened to death being in a totally new place and knowing only one other person, but she found herself genuinely touched with the girl’s affections towards her. She also felt rather touched that Ser Lefford had trusted her so much as to send her his child without even having met her, as if he never had a doubt she would be a good person and take care of her.

Another loud rumble of thunder passed overhead, and it was so loud that Brienne almost missed the knock on her door.

She sat up, her heart pounding.

_Who the hell is that at this hour?_

Her heart suddenly lurched in her chest as she wondered if Ser Byron was sneaking around the halls in the dark looking for her rooms. She wasn’t in the mood to fend him off right now and as a result she briefly worried what would happen if it indeed _was_ him at her door.

The knocking came again, hurried and anxious sounding.

“Who’s there?” Brienne called out.

“Please, Lady Brienne, it’s me, Cora, may I come in?”

Brienne breathed a sigh of relief she didn’t realize she had been holding.

“Oh goodness, of course darling, come in,” she was about to get out of bed to open the door, but before she could even throw back the covers, Cora had already entered the room, closed the door behind her and was up on the bed.

“Are you alright, my little love?” Brienne asked. Cora crawled over to her and curled up into Brienne’s side.

“I’m scared of the storm,” she said quietly. “Verra says I should just be quiet and go to sleep, but I can’t.”

Brienne frowned at that and leaned against the pillows, put her arm around the girl and pulled the covers up over both of them. She could feel Cora immediately begin to relax.

“Well then, you will just have to stay here with me, would you like that?” Brienne smiled down at her.

“Oh yes, Lady Brienne, very much,” Cora snuggled deeper into her.

“How did you get here? This is a very big castle you know,” Brienne knew Cora and Verra’s room was nearby, but she wanted Cora to feel she had accomplished something big.

Cora looked up at her. “I remburred when you showed me before.”

“Oh my, you’re very smart then!”

Cora beamed with pride.

“Won’t Verra come looking for you?”

“No, she’s sleeping. I made sure I was very quiet,” Cora held a finger to her lips to emphasize the point. Brienne took her hand and kissed it loudly.

“You’re very sneaky, I see I’m going to have to keep an eye on you,” Brienne said and tickled her, making Cora shriek with laughter.

Another bout of lightning and thunder shook the castle. Cora froze. Brienne pulled the girl tighter against her.

“Don’t be afraid, love, storms can be wonderful and beautiful things. When I was a little girl, I used to go out to the lighthouse during storms. I used to help the lighthouse caretaker with his duties.”

“Wow, you did?” Cora was awestruck.

“Mmm hmm,” Brienne nodded.

“Can you tell me a story? One of _your_ stories? You’re the lady knight that people talk about, I just know you are!”

“And just how do you know that?” Brienne said to her in an overly-dramatic tone with a smile.

“Because I can tell,” Cora’s green eyes sparkled up at her in the firelight. “You’re tall, and strong, and brave, and you have a sword!”

“Well, love, lots of people have swords.”

“Oh I know, but yours is a magic sword I bet!”

Brienne smiled. _If she only knew…_

Cora suddenly reached up to gently stroke Brienne’s hair, which had grown past her shoulders now. “You also have pretty hair. All knights have pretty hair.”

Brienne bit back a laugh. “Oh, do they now?”

“Uh huh, Ser Byron has nice hair.”

“Yes, well, I would imagine he spends lots of time tending to it,” Brienne muttered sarcastically.

Cora was still petting her. Brienne leaned forward and touched her forehead to Cora’s.

“Well, I’ll tell you a secret,” Brienne whispered. Cora’s eyes grew wide as she leaned in to hear. “I _am_ the lady knight you’ve heard about. My full name is Ser Brienne of Tarth.”

Cora gasped, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. “I knew it! I want to be just like you when I get big!”

Brienne laughed and kissed the top of Cora’s head again. “Well, my darling, if that’s what you want I would be happy to teach you how to swing a sword one day.”

Cora bounced up and down. “Yay! I’m going to be a lady knight too!”

Brienne laughed and hugged Cora tightly to her. This seemed like such second nature to her it was slightly scaring her.

“So, a story, hmm? Let’s see,” Brienne scrunched up her face in thought, making Cora giggle. She didn't feel up to recounting one of her own experiences at the moment since many of them included Jaime.

“Oh! I know, have you ever heard the tale of Ser Galladon?”

Cora shook her head. “No, who is he?”

“Ah, well! Ser Galladon was a knight…”

“Like you?”

Brienne chuckled. “Yes, like me. And he was so brave, that the Maiden herself fell in love with him.”

“Wowwww,” Cora whispered, her eyes intently focused on Brienne.

“She loved him so much that she gave him a magic sword called _The Just Maid_.”

“Like your magic sword?”

Brienne wasn’t quite sure how to answer that so she decided to humor the girl. “Yes, just like mine, only mine is called _Oathkeeper_.”

“Oafkeeper, wow,” Cora was back to whispering. Brienne smiled.

“Anyway this sword was so powerful, that no other sword could beat it, and no shield could withstand against it. It was said Ser Galladon slew a dragon with it.”

“A dragon??” Cora’s eyes were wide as saucers. Brienne nodded.

“Yes, a dragon.”

“Have you ever seen a dragon?”

“I have actually, yes, I’ve seen two.”

“Two!” Cora’s mouth hung open again. “I hope I get to see a dragon someday.”

_For all of our sakes, I hope you don’t._

Lightning lit up the room once again, followed by more thunder. Cora flinched and hid her face in Brienne’s armpit.

“I want to sleep in here with you always,” Cora said, putting her arms around Brienne. Brienne felt her heart clench and she leaned down to kiss the top of Cora’s hair.

“If that is what you wish, I can arrange it,” Brienne smiled and laughed.

Cora gasped and jumped up, leaning on Brienne for support as she wobbled on the mattress. “Oh really? That would be the best thing in the whole world!” Cora wrapped her arms around Brienne’s neck, and Brienne felt tears come to her eyes at the gesture. Cora then slid down into Brienne’s lap and leaned her head on her chest. Brienne’s arms automatically went around her.

“I can’t wait to tell my papa what a nice lady you are,” Cora said.

“Well, we can send him a raven if you like, to let him know you’re happy here and that you are doing so well,” Brienne answered her, her thoughts straying to Ser Lefford and how much she suddenly wished he were here with them.

“Okay,” Cora then grew thoughtful. “I miss his soup. He makes such wonderful soup.”

Brienne had to chuckle at the abrupt change in subject matter. “Oh, so he’s a great chef then, is he?”

“Well, mostly, he has trouble with the cutting sometimes.”

“The cutting?”

“Yes, when he cuts meat or tay-toes or something, sometimes I have to hold them for him.”

Brienne furrowed her brows in confusion. “Why is that, little love?”

“My papa only has one hand, so it’s hard for him sometimes.”

And Brienne’s eyes went wide and her blood turned to ice in her veins.

*/*/*/*/*


	20. Brienne IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by TeaAndBanjo

Cora’s story about her one-handed father had delayed Brienne’s sleep, and the woman had been left to repeat to herself that the battles had left so many dead and maimed men, surely Lefford was just another poor maimed soldier? Perhaps her next letter would ask a few more probing questions...

Brienne awoke in the morning twilight, as was her habit. She puzzled for a moment over the blonde curls against a pillow, and lifted the bedlinen to find that Cora was curled under the covers like a cat. She slid out of bed carefully, and dressed quietly in the plain, soft breeches and coat she preferred for riding.

She carried her boots in her hand, and knocked quietly on Verra’s door to let the girl know where to find the wandering child, and give her some instructions.

A few hours later, when the sun was high enough to warm the ground, Brienne strolled into the stable yard, with a few small apples in a pocket.

“Come here, Pebble, sweetling.” The huge gray-flecked horse sniffed Brienne’s clothes and nudged her gently. “Be a little patient and you will get to stretch your legs today.”

Brienne assured herself that the mare was in top condition, patting her mottled grey coat and praising the animal’s strength and patience. The horse stood perfectly still, except for a flick of the tail, and her dark eyes following her lady. Soon, The stable boy approached with saddle and bridle, and it was quick work for the two of them to make the horse ready. Brienne thanked him, and sent him back to his other work.

Brienne led the mare to the edge of the stable yard, where Verra and Cora waited. “Cora, this is Pebble. Would you like a ride?”

The girl’s green eyes were huge. “Is she a knight’s horse? Like in the pictures?”

“She’s not my tourney horse. He’s kind of obnoxious.” Brienne laughed and put an apple in the girl’s hand. “Pebble has a perfect gait if you are going to ride miles and miles, and she’s one of the smartest animals I know.”

Cora looked from the apple to the horse, who was slowly lowering her head to see if the treat was possibly for her.

“Go ahead, hold it up for her.” Pebble lifted the apple in her teeth, and chewed happily.

“Have you ever been on a horse?” _Is she a city child or a country child?_

Cora’s golden curls bounced as she shook her head.

Brienne adjusted the reins, got a boot into the stirrup, and lifted herself onto the saddle. “Verra, hand her up.” Cora was light, and she settled the small girl in front of her on the saddle.

A few circles around the yard at a slow walk convinced Brienne that the child wasn’t going to panic or try to get off suddenly.

“Would you like to see Storm’s End, all at once?” Cora seemed quite happy to cling to the pommel, and gaze wide-eyed at Shipbreaker Bay as Brienne guided the patient horse up the road away from Storm’s End’s fortifications.

The rhythm of Pebble’s hooves against the stones in the road put Brienne in mind of other journeys, but the road held no threats, and the Lady of Storm’s End carried nothing larger than a dagger.

Her mind wandered. She wondered what Cora’s parents were like. Certainly, a fair-haired couple. Did the girl have her mother’s features? Her father’s? There were many beautiful people with two plain parents, and ugly people with comely parents. The girl had the plump face of the young child that she was. What would she look like when she was old enough to consider marriage? Would Lefford actually settle for someone as plain as herself, after having the beauty that bore little Cora? Would there be a half-sister or half-brother? What would she and this Lefford man create?

There was the third mile marker. Brienne gave the gentlest tug on the reins, and Pebble let all four of her feet rest on the ground.

“Cora, does your father ride?” Brienne wondered if a horse would be a suitable wedding gift. Maybe it would be better to learn the man first?

The girl shrugged. Even her puzzled frown was adorable. Brienne was envious. Cora was examining Brienne’s large hands, and the way her fingers held the reins.

“Does it take two hands to ride?”

“Which horse?” Brienne opened her hands, and let the reins fall. She softly gave Pebble a cue with her heel, and the horse stepped around with her front feet until the mare’s nose was pointing back down the hill. “This one doesn’t need any.”

Cora bounced happily and clapped her hands. Pebble put her ears back shifted nervously until Brienne picked up the reins again. “Clever girl,” she whispered, and put a hand against the mare’s neck.

“Do you know any songs to sing while you are riding?” Brienne craved a distraction. Her imagination was beginning to make Jaime Lefford look much too much like Jaime Lannister.

“Bear and the Maiden fair?” asked Cora.

Hope and dread were engaging in a pitched battle for possession of Brienne’s chest. _Fuck you, Jaime Lannister._

“Hold on, Cora! I’ve decided we don’t need a song.” Brienne nudged the mare with her heel, and the animal’s smooth gait was like water over worn rocks. The horse carried them back into the gates, to the stables, and up to where Verra and the stable boy were making eyes at each other.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne was done with her cry against Pebble’s smooth coat, (which the stable hands had kindly ignored) and had allowed herself to return to being “The Lady of Storm’s End.” It was time to go back to her desk, and her staff, and make sure that the plans for their presence at the tourney were complete.

She crossed through the great hall. One of the boys was stacking wood near the fireplace in preparation for the evening, and two barefoot girls were sweeping the stone floor.

She turned at the sound of footsteps behind her.

“A raven arrived, Ser,” said Podrick. He opened his fingers to present the message.

Brienne unrolled the smooth, almost transparent, white paper.

_Esteemed Lady B:_

_It is time we met. You have been corresponding with my brother, the Lord Lefford, for some time, and I do not wish you to delay the pleasure of your eventual union because of his clumsy words._

_The two of us will talk, woman to woman, and I’m sure we can swiftly come to an arrangement that will be agreeable to both of us._

_I look forward to making your acquaintance at the tourney._

_Respectfully,_

_Lady Lefford_

Brienne slumped onto a bench, and waved the paper at Pod, who took it out of her hand before she dropped it. His brow creased as he read.

“Who is Lady Lefford?” asked Podrick.

Brienne wanted to make the facts line up like pikemen.

_Cora Lefford was Jaime Lannister’s. His green eyes, his songs._

_Which meant that “Lefford” was actually Lannister._

_Four years ago, Jaime had ridden away into the dark, when Cersei Lannister called him to her side._

“Cersei,” said Brienne, her voice flat. “I’m certain of it.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne pressed her hands to her face. Her thoughts swirled like sea birds arguing over a crust of bread.

She spread a piece of the gossamer paper on her desk. If the raven's load was too heavy, the message would arrive late or not at all.

She opened the inkwell and picked up her pen.

_Tyrion:._

_I am writing to my friend, not Lord Tyrion._

_You do remember that I do not like surprises? Ser Lefford, who you have spoken so highly of, sent me his child and her attendant, with no warning at all. The letter that accompanied them mentioned danger to the girl. The child is comely, polite, and has green eyes that remind me of someone I once traveled with. The servant girl is poorly trained, and was willing to tell me about Ser Lefford’s fine appearance, knightly courtesy, and kind heart. At length. They are both well, and will stay so, as much as it is in my power._

_I have received a letter from Ser Lefford’s sister. The lady is traveling to the tourney in order to meet with me and discuss the price of her brother in marriage. I mislike her tone, and feel she is used to fawning devotion from her subjects. I can’t supply fighting men for her, and I’m going to be as careful with my gold as I would with a traveling horse salesman._

_My friend, I’m filled with doubt. You are full of clever stratagems that can’t be fought with a sword. I never thought I would say this, but a tourney is no place for a sword fight. Your presence would be welcome, and calm my nerves considerably on the subject of my marriage._

_Brienne_

_*/*/*/*/*_


	21. Jaime XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Clearance_Unicorn.

The captain of the _Fair Wind_ had decided to put in at Parchments before making his way down past Tarth and around Shipbreaker Bay. Jaime hardly saw the dock coming closer, all his attention on the green hills of Tarth in her sapphire seas. _She is there. Right there. I could stay on board and ask the captain to set me ashore at Evenfall Hall. I could …_

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t be welcome, for one thing, and for another, there was Lady B. Jaime knew he could never love her, not as he loved – would always love – Brienne, but she was kind, and good, and deserved better than to have a man trifle with her and then run off in futile pursuit of another woman.

The jar of the ship against the quay startled him from his thoughts, and he turned.

“Why are we stopping here?” Cersei complained for perhaps the fifteenth time.

“Because we are disembarking here,” Jaime said firmly. “It’s as close to Bronzegate as Storm’s End.” The gangplank was hoisted into place, and Jaime took a step towards it, ignoring another protest from his sweet sister. “If you wish to travel on your own, of course …” She would not, he knew. _Fend for herself? Deal with innkeepers and horse-traders?_ The Wall would melt to water before that happened.

“Very well,” she sniffed.

Heavy footsteps rattled the gangplank, and four large men in livery Jaime didn’t recognise stepped onto the deck. Behind them, treading more lightly, a small man in the plain garments of a banker or a lawyer. He had a lined, weather-beaten face and dark, expressionless eyes.

He bowed. “Ser Jaime. Forgive the interruption. You may leave, and your student.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes. “You seem to have the advantage of me, ser.”

“Yes,” the man said. He turned his attention to Cersei. “You will be remaining aboard, madam, and returning to Pentos.”

Cersei drew herself up. “I will not be ordered around by some –”

“You will,” the man said calmly.

“Who do you think you are!” Cersei snarled.

Most men would have stepped back from Cersei in a rage, but the small man didn’t move. His expression didn’t even change, and when he spoke his voice was even and quiet. “It’s who you are, madam, that concerns us both. And before you embarrass yourself, you should know. The girl who does your hair and helped you with that dye? She’s my girl. The boy you toss a copper to when you give him your letters to take to the port? He’s mine too. The old lady in the house next to yours, who sits at her open window all day? She’s mine. The barrow-boy at the end of your street? Mine also. The musicians you hire to entertain you, the woman who scrubs your floor and washes your clothes, the seamstress who makes them, all mine. As is good Captain Graz, for that matter. I know exactly who you are and why you’re here, and my instructions are to see you returned to Pentos. Safely, in case you’re wondering, which wouldn’t be my choice. So you can go back down to your cabin peacefully and retain some shred of dignity, or these gentlemen can assist you there with no dignity at all.”

“I will not –” Cersei started, and the four men took a step forward. She shut her mouth with a snap. “You’ll pay for this!”

“Undoubtedly,” the man said. “Will you go, madam, or be carried?”

With one final venomous glare, Cersei spun on her heel and stalked away.

“You’ve been spying on us?” Jaime said.

“No. On her.”

“You work for my brother?”

“I serve the king.”

_Master of Whispers_. “And may I know your name?”

“People call me Master Bentbrook.” For the first time, a flicker of expression showed on Bentbrook’s face, just the hint of a smile. “It’s as good a name as any other. There are horses for you and your young charge in town. You’ll find them, there’s only one stables.” He produced a purse from his sleeve and put it in Jaime’s hand. “Your brother sends this, for any expenses, along with his best wishes, and a message. Your daughter is well, and your brother will see you at the Bronzegate Tourney. The lady grows suspicious, so you’d do well to keep out of sight and let your brother handle her.”

Jaime’s heart sank. “Suspicious?”

“Your sister wrote to her. She’s not as clever as she thinks.”

Jaime had to laugh. _Cersei’s whole life, summed up in one dry sentence._ “Thank you, Master Bentbrook. Do I have your leave to collect my student, and depart?”

Master Bentbrook bowed again, this time with a sweep of his arm towards the gangplank. “You, Ser Jaime, are entirely free to go.”

*/*/*/*/*


	22. Brienne X/Jaime XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Meriwyn.

**Brienne**

The morning before the tourney had finally arrived. Brienne and her entourage would have to leave for Bronzegate soon in order to arrive in time for the tourney tomorrow. She hadn’t planned on going, but as the Lady of Storm’s End and therefore the ruling seat of the Stormlands, she realized it was her duty to attend.

Brienne was sitting at her desk in her solar, staring at Jaime Lefford’s last letter, trying to put all of the pieces together in her head

_Jaime Lefford, my foot._

Her eyes scanned over the bits that stood out to her.

_I don’t know if you will ever get over the love you have lost. I am certain I will never get over mine._

_Although, I admit, it has not truly done so for me, only provided me with a small and energetic distraction from my self-pity and self-flagellation._

_My dear love was not a beautiful woman, but I would give a great deal to look on her again._

That one would take a bit to digest. He had insulted her and put her on a pedestal in the same sentence.

 _My eyes are green._ _I am aging, greying, dulled by time and worn by life…having little curb on my tongue._

All of this certainly sounded like Jaime Lannister, most of all the self-pitying part. Coupled with what Cora had told her, and the subsequent letter from “Lady” Lefford, she was all but certain it was him. And if it was, he had lied and hidden himself from her.

“Tyrion, you and I need to have a serious talk,” Brienne gritted out through clenched teeth.

And now she had his daughter. _Cersei’s_ daughter. An innocent child who loved her and wanted to be her, who climbed into her bed each night and wanted to be held by her. The gods were cruel, indeed. But Brienne loved Cora back, and she refused to take out her anger and hurt on an innocent, unsuspecting child who obviously held her in such high regard.

_In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent._

Brienne returned her attention to Jaime’s letter. She focused on her man-at-arms issue next.

 _He will be older than most, a man whose skills are greater, now, than his strength_.

“Like you, Jaime?” She snorted and muttered. “Sounds to me like you’re applying for this role yourself. Be careful what you wish for.”

She read that section over twice, committing his advice to memory so that she knew what she would be looking for when she went to the tourney. Upon further scanning of his scribblings, Brienne came to the conclusion that she would save her maester problems until she returned. She simply didn’t feel like dealing with him at the moment. Although the section where Jaime wrote “gone away inside to somewhere that makes you happy” was just another piece of evidence she needed. Tears began to fall silently from her eyes.

The door to her solar flew open and Cora ran in, her rag doll in hand. She ran straight to Brienne and crawled up into her lap, where she knelt down on Brienne’s thighs. Brienne had no time to react.

“When are we going?” Cora whined. “I want to see all the knights!”

Brienne sniffed and tried to compose herself. “Soon, my darling, they should be finishing packing everything up now.”

Cora’s face slowly fell as she studied Brienne. Her small brow furrowed and her green eyes became concerned. She rose up further on her knees and brought her small hands up to cup either side of Brienne’s face, surprising the latter.

“Why are you sad?” Cora whispered so gently. “Don’t be sad,” she started to wipe away Brienne’s tears with the palms of her hands. Brienne realized there was no point in lying to the girl, as she didn’t want to give Cora any reason not to trust her. She put her arms around her.

“I’m just missing someone, someone I loved very much. Someone I still love.”

“Who?” Cora kept patting Brienne’s face. Brienne took a deep breath. There was no holding back now.

“Your papa, I believe.”

Cora’s eyes went wide and she smiled. “You know my papa?”

Brienne nodded. “I believe so, yes.”

Cora grew agitated. “Oh! I hope so! I hope you like him very much! I want you to be my mother!”

Brienne started to cry harder at that. Cora hugged her around her neck.

“No, that’s not a sad thing, that’s a happy thing! Don’t you want to be my mother?”

Brienne’s heart shattered at that very moment. She hugged her back and buried her face in Cora’s golden curls.

“More than anything, little love.”

*/*/*/*/*

**Jaime**

Jaime and Syros walked around the tourney grounds. It was a cacophony of noise and colors, with house banners everywhere they turned, the clanging of swords and other weapons as knights and their squires practiced before the main events. Syros was wide-eyed, trying to look everywhere at once and take it all in. Jaime had to smile.

There would be two events today, a melee tournament and then a joust. The main arena was enormous, with a large grandstand at the front where all of the nobility would be seated under large canopies. Spectators would be able to take their place against the railing of the arena, which spanned the entire way around, giving more than enough room for everyone.

Jaime had hoped enough years had passed and that time had had enough of an effect on him that he wasn’t so easily recognizable. So far, so good, as most of the competitors were too preoccupied with getting themselves in armor. As they wove through the tents, Jaime was pointing out the different armor and weapons to Syros, telling him what each weapon was used for and how to wield it. He described the different kinds of horses and destriers, where they came from and what strengths each kind had.

They eventually made their way to the railing of the arena, securing a spot for themselves so that Syros didn’t miss anything. Jaime stood behind him, making sure the boy could both see, and that he would not lose him in this massive crowd. Jaime looked up at the sun and let the wind ruffle his hair. He felt free for the first time since he had left Winterfell, since he had been with her.

A trumpet sounded which meant things were about to get started, breaking Jaime from his thoughts. He pushed the memory of Brienne to the back of his mind for now and turned his attention to the grandstand where the nobility would be filing in at any moment.

*/*/*/*/*

**Brienne**

Keeping a hold of Cora in this crowd, coupled with the girl’s excitement, was proving rather difficult for Brienne. She finally had to resort to picking her up and carrying her for fear of losing her or her being trampled underfoot. Once she was up high in Brienne’s arms, she looked around everywhere at once, gasping and pointing and asking unending questions.

Brienne laughed. “Alright, little love, it’s time to go take our seats,” she brought her forehead against Cora’s. “They have to announce us, we’re very important, you know.” They giggled together like a pair of conspirators.

Brienne was dressed in tan suede breeches with a long-tailed coat of Tarth blue. Her house sigil was on one side of the breast, with the sigil of the Stormlands on the other. _Oathkeeper_ hung at her waist as always, and her long white-blonde hair flowed behind her in the breeze. She looked every inch the warrior maiden. She waited as the nobility were announced and all of the competitors lined up in the arena. Finally, it was her turn.

“Ladies, lords, knights, and squires!” The herald bellowed out. “Pray, give your attention to your liege lady, the Lady Ser Brienne of Tarth, Warden of the East, and the Lady of Storm’s End!”

The crowd erupted into cheers as Brienne walked up onto the grandstand to take her seat next to Jeyne Buckler and Lord Buckler. Cora clung to her, suddenly petrified. Brienne waved at the assembled masses, hating every minute of the attention. She took her seat and sat Cora on her lap so that she could see everything.

The rules were read to the participants, each knight was announced as they paraded around the arena with their squires carrying their house banners. On his way by, Ser Byron reined his horse up in front of Brienne. She had to admit he looked magnificent, in his armor with his golden hair flowing over his shoulders down to his upper back. He looked up at her with a twinkle in his green eyes. Cora leaned forward.

“Hello, Ser Byron!” She yelled, waving enthusiastically at him. He smiled at her and reached for her hand, giving her a chivalrous kiss there.

“And hello to you, young mistress Cora, are you enjoying the day?”

Cora nodded and retreated back to Brienne’s lap, suddenly shy, but smiling. Byron returned his attentions to Brienne.

“My lady, it would give me no greater pleasure if you would allow me to fight in your name this day. You will be my inspiration and make my sword strike true.”

Jeyne Buckler turned to Brienne. “My goodness, my lady, that is quite a declaration, how can you refuse?” She batted her eyelashes at Ser Byron. Brienne flushed deep red and indeed, she could not refuse him in front of the entire grandstand. She took a deep breath and nodded, standing up and setting Cora on her chair, she slowly reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a blue silken ribbon. She had brought one in case someone had asked for her favor out of respect. She hadn’t really even considered Byron, however.

“If that is your wish, Ser Byron, I would be honored,” she said, putting on as much of a false show as he was. The crowd around her applauded and cheered. Brienne leaned down and tied the ribbon around Byron’s arm. Before she could sit down again, he grabbed her hand and brought it to his face, and instead of kissing her knuckles like a knight would, he turned her hand over and placed a lingering kiss on her palm instead, drawing gasps and whispers from those around them. Brienne flushed deeper and swallowed the lump in her throat. She was quickly becoming very uncomfortable.

Ser Byron winked at her before riding off for the melee which would be beginning shortly.

Brienne sat down again and gathered Cora back onto her lap, using the girl as a shield to hide her trembling and her embarrassment.

*/*/*/*/*

**Jaime**

Jaime couldn’t move. His legs felt like lead and his arms hung stiffly at his sides. Even his eyes wouldn’t move, they were frozen on Brienne, drinking in the sight of her, memories and regrets flooding his mind. She looked almost ethereal to him, clad in blue which he always loved, the soft waves of her hair now grown past her shoulders. And in her lap, happily clinging to her and bouncing around with excitement, was his daughter.

_Lady Brienne of Tarth, Warden of the East, and the Lady of Storm’s End._

_Lady B…_

He couldn’t believe he didn’t piece it together before now.

Jaime felt tremendous relief and fear all at once. Relief at the fact that he wasn’t falling in love with someone else through his letters, but he had been falling in love with Brienne all over again instead, and she with him, if he had read her tone correctly. The fear came from having to face her again. Would she be happy to see him? Would she reject him? Would she hear him out? He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. He wanted to run to her and wrap his arms around her waist and bury his face in her lap and beg her forgiveness. He wanted to kiss her until the sun went down and never stop.

He then looked at Cora, who seemed quite happy in Brienne’s lap. He watched as his daughter pointed at various things and then looked up at Brienne to ask her questions or tell her what she was looking at, he assumed. Cora kept hugging Brienne around her neck and patting her face. Jaime smiled as tears came to his eyes as he watched them interact. Brienne had obviously taken to the girl, and she to Brienne. His heart soared as he realized he had not made a mistake in sending Cora here.

Jaime suddenly bristled as he saw one of the knights ride up to Brienne and exchange some words with her. He could only see the back of the man’s head, but judging from the long flowing blonde locks, he had a pretty good idea of who it was.

 _Oh, this must be the blonde peacock_ , he thought bitterly. He felt his jealousy rising as he watched Brienne tie her favor around his arm. Jealousy was swiftly replaced by boiling anger as he watched this man place a rather intimate kiss on Brienne’s palm. That was something only he was allowed to do. It did give him comfort however to see that Brienne reacted with confusion and stiff formality. Still, Jaime fought the urge to don armor himself and jump into the arena and beat the pompous ass to a pulp.

When the man turned his horse away from Brienne and went to take his place for the melee, Jaime was hit with a flash of recognition. He squinted his eyes against the sun to study the man’s face, his eyes widening as he did so.

“Tyrek…?”

*/*/*/*/*


	23. Jaime XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by SeeThemFlying.

It was almost too many revelations for one day; firstly, that Lady B was his beloved Brienne, secondly, that Brienne and Cora had a growing affection for one another, and thirdly… Tyrek Lannister was still alive?

The last time Jaime’s cousin Tyrek had been seen, he had been a fair faced youth of thirteen. He had gone missing during the Riot of King’s Landing in King Joffrey’s time, and no hide nor hair of him had been seen since. What was he doing at Jeyne Buckler’s tourney, pressing kisses onto _his_ Brienne’s hand?

Part of him wanted to stare at the young knight to check and double check that he was correct in his identification, but for Jaime it was more important to look at the sun, moon, and stars who had his daughter on her lap. Her eyes were fixed resolutely on Tyrek, as if she were trying to appraise him, understand him, weigh up his worth. Jaime wanted to shout that he would never be good enough for her, never understand her like he did, never love her like she deserved to be loved…

“Ser, are you quite well?” Jaime had quite forgotten that Syros was behind him.

“Yes, fine,” said Jaime brusquely, getting some loose change out of his purse. “Why don’t you go and buy some food from one of the vendors? There is someone I need to speak to.” Syros seemed happy at the prospect so, taking Jaime’s money, he trotted off to buy some mince pies.

Jaime turned back to Brienne, who was now pointing out Tyrek to an excitable Cora. Feeling the pull of his love and his daughter, Jaime was suddenly purposefully striding towards them, around the melee and up to the grandstand, where Brienne was sitting with the other high ranking guests. Ser Jaime Lefford was not of high enough rank to be permitted onto the grandstand itself, so he had to watch from the side lines, but he did not care. Now he was this close he could see Brienne’s every expression.

She was clearly a little disinterested in the first melee; the jousting was not starting fully until the morrow, and this initial fight was just to separate the men from the boys, the opening gambit allowing all the peacocking lords and ladies to announce their presence in the stands. Even so, Cora was also clearly a little scared of what was happening and had her face pressed into Brienne’s chest. One of Brienne’s strong hands was on Cora’s head, stroking her soothingly. A burst of warmth rocketed through Jaime that he knew he would never be able to quell again.

 _This is what I want,_ he thought. _Even though I deserve none of it…_

And then she turned her head, clearly sensing that someone was watching her. Despite the fact he was just one face in a crowd, her eyes were upon him in a moment. They were still the same intense blue they had always been, but three years had clearly been burdensome upon her, as she now had new lines around her eyes that had not been there before.

Jaime was not sure what reaction he had been expecting, but he was sure it was going to be more dramatic than the one she gave him. Her beautiful eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and in that moment, Jaime thought he was going to drown in never ending blue, before she furrowed her brow in an unreadable emotion. In a feeble attempt to inspire something bigger, Jaime lifted his hand in an awkward wave. While he did not expect her to respond, he was not anticipating that she would purposefully ignore him, draw her arms around Cora, get to her feet and disappear behind the grandstand, into an area that only very important guests could go. He could only watch her walk away.

_Now I know how she felt._

*/*/*/*/*

That night, Lord Buckler threw a lavish feast for his guests to welcome them to his daughter’s tourney, and the Great Hall was full of talking and laughter. If Brienne had not been at Bronzegate, Jaime would not have attended, but he was so desperate to see her that he would risk people recognising him for the chance to just be in her presence.

However, he was severely disappointed when he did not see her at the high table. It grew concerning when Lord Buckler and his daughter began the toasts, and still she did not arrive. Even once the food was served, she did not appear. After half an hour, Syros got bored of waiting for Jaime to introduce him to anyone, so went off with a number of young squires to chase girls, leaving Jaime alone with his thoughts. More comfortable that way, Jaime hid in a corner, just having his glass refilled anytime a serving girl came past, his eyes always on the high table, hoping against all hope that she would appear.

Eventually, after an hour of waiting, the herald announced the arrival of another high ranking guest. Jaime’s heart rose at the prospect of it being Brienne, but then found himself vaguely disappointed when Tyrion came waddling into the hall still wearing his travelling cloak, taking his seat beside Jeyne Buckler. Jaime did not feel ready to face his brother so, sinking back into the shadows, he vowed to find Syros and a place to bed down if she had not arrived in the next five minutes.

He was not disappointed.

“Lady Brienne of Tarth, Warden of the East, and the Lady of Storm’s End, and her companion, Ser Byron the Beautiful.”

At that moment, Brienne and Tyrek came striding into the room, hand in hand. Brienne had adopted her usual stoicism, while Tyrek looked so happy Jaime thought he was going to burst.

_Byron the Beautiful? Tyrek? What was going on?_

Jaime’s mad attempts to rationalise things were interrupted by a low chuckle from a drunk man to his right. “Poor woman, that Ser Byron looks an awful lot like the Kingslayer, don’t he?”

While Brienne sat next to Lord Bronzegate, Tyrek took the seat on her other side and a rage of jealousy burned inside Jaime. He could only watch as she was served her dinner, and how Tyrek was all over her, offering her food from his plate, whispering jokes in her ear, his hand on hers. Jaime watched Brienne’s expressions every time his stupid cousin touched her; she would go that familiar, blotchy red, and, to his horror, Jaime thought her true emotion sat somewhere between discomfort and attraction.

When Tyrek finally pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek during the dessert course, Brienne clearly needed a breath of air, so got up to the table and went in the direction of one of the corridors that led out to the courtyard. Without even consciously deciding to, Jaime suddenly found himself chasing her, and he finally caught her once they were in the corridor.

“Wait! Brienne…”

The sound of his voice stopped her in her tracks and all time seem to stand still. After what felt like years, she turned around to face him, raising herself up to her full, majestic height. The expression she wore was almost identical to the one she had adopted when they duelled on a bridge in the Riverlands so many years ago.

“Ser Lefford,” she said icily. His Brienne had never been this cold before.

 _Ser Lefford?_ Had she known all along that she was talking to Jaime Lannister? When it had only just occurred to him that his Brienne was Lady B? “How long have you known?” he asked stupidly.

“It’s the Lady of Storm’s End to you,” she said harshly. Not answering his question, she launched one of her own. “I assume you have come here to woo me? Your _sister_ requires an army, does she not?” She almost spat the word _sister._

In trying to answer, Jaime’s words tumbled over each other, tripped and fell, fought for dominance. _Yes, I am here to woo you, kiss you and love you, and I’ll never let you go again. Yes, I want to wed you, bed you and make you mine. I am here to beg your forgiveness for every wrong I have ever done you, to get on my knees and plead with you for mercy, because I am so sorry._ However, he found he could only stammer.

“I… I… I…”

“Well, you are too late,” she said. He swore he could see tears blooming in her blue eyes. “Far, _far_ too late. Three years too late, in fact.”

He stepped towards her and she recoiled. Once, she had found his touch warm and welcoming. It felt like she had stabbed him. “My lady, I…”

“I thank you for your letters, Ser Lefford,” she said sharply, “but your suit is in vain. I have just asked for Ser Byron’s hand and he has accepted. I bid you goodnight.”

“Ser Byron,” he said slowly, struggling to keep up. Brienne and Tyrek? He would rip Tyrek’s head off his shoulders for merely entertaining the thought of marrying Brienne and do worse for lying to her. Despite his obvious confusion, she did not deem it wise to give him a response so, turning sharply on her foot, Brienne walked away down the corridor, not looking back at him. He watched until he could bear it no more.

“Wench, you are being a fool!” he snapped.

She froze at his use of her nickname, before turning to face him once again, an icy anger in her eyes. “Don’t you dare, Ser. Don’t you _dare_.”

He had feared her fury, expected it even, but now it was here before him he could only defer to the majesty of it. With one more cold expression, as frozen as the winter night he had left her, she strode away from him.

_Brienne… Brienne… I love you still…_

He needed a way to talk to her properly, when they were not hiding behind the masks of “Ser Jaime Lefford” and “Lady B”, so he could explain to her the utter foolishness of marrying someone other than him. For three long years he, Jaime Lannister, had thought about Brienne of Tarth every single day and night, rueing what a fool he was for ever leaving her, and that he still loved her with everything he had.

 _The tourney,_ he thought suddenly. _I can prove how much I love her through the tourney._

The joust began in earnest on the morrow, and Jaime would be ready.

*/*/*/*/*


	24. Tyrion I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by TeaAndBanjo.

Tyrion shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. The road to Bronzegate was long, and the three of them had been riding since early morning. His hips and knees were not used to the abuse, even with the palfrey’s steady, smooth gait.

Alex Hill rode ahead, as he was sixteen and looking forward to drawing the sword he wore. Hill reminded Tyrion very strongly of Bronn, but Bronn had repeatedly denied being anywhere near that town seventeen years ago, and insulted the lad’s looks besides. “Even if his mum is only half that ugly, I’d never have been drunk enough to hit that,” were the words that Tyrion remembered.

Hanne was the third in the party. The hood of her dark cloak was thrown back, and she seemed just as comfortable in the saddle as she was when they first mounted this morning. 

After what seemed to be a very long time, Tyrion’s party found their way to the tourney grounds, and eventually were directed to the kitchen entrance of Lord Buckler’s chateau. 

Alex and Hanne together were able to lift Tyrion off his mount, and he slowly stretched so his joints could properly enjoy standing on solid ground again. Buckler’s servants swarmed like ants, and their bags were carried inside, and the horses led away to whatever sort of care Lord Buckler’s own horses enjoyed.

“Please,” said Tyrion addressing the butler, “Is the Lady Warden of the Stormlands arrived?   
  


/*/*/*/*/*/*

Tyrion knocked, and a young blonde woman garbed in Pentoshi style opened the door. She looked down at him with some puzzlement. He was not certain if his dusty traveling cloak or strange appearance was the cause.

“Lord Tyrion,” he gestured at himself. “I am here to see your lady, at her request.”

The woman stood aside, and crossed the room to whisper to Brienne, who was slumped in a chair, with elbows on her knees, and her face buried in her huge hands.

Tyrion shut and barred the door, as the servant left the sitting room into what looked like a bed chamber.

He slowly approached. There were chairs, but he didn’t feel his arse needed any additional abuse today.

“What were you thinking?” Brienne lifted her head and stared at him. “I thought I’d be happy to see him, but…”

“But? He was an ass before, he’s an ass now.” The anguish on her face reminded Tyrion that his plan had never been without risk, and maybe he should have left his damn brother to rot in Pentos after all.

“Why didn’t you warn me? The man came all the way here from wherever he’s been for years, and I can’t decide if I want to keep him, or kill him, or ....” Her voice was rough.

“You don’t have to decide now.” He should use the soothing voice, the one for animals and small children.

“I do need to decide. Cersei Lannister is going to meet with me to so she can sell Jamie back to me.” There were tears, now, and Tyrion wasn’t sure what to do.

“Plans have changed. The would-be queen is on her way back to Pentos.” Tyrion sighed. “The situation is somewhat complex, and I need your help.”

“Does this involve Jaime?” The small creases between her pale eyebrows dug themselves a little deeper.

“He isn’t involved. He is just a convenient way to get some gold.” 

“What do you need from me?” Her cheeks were still wet, but she sat up a little bit straighter.

“Many years ago, there was a secret project. It seems some alchemist or other came up with a magic more powerful than the wildfire.” Tyrion wasn’t going to get into the details. He’d read too much, and afterwards he hadn’t slept well. “My father Tywin was King’s hand at the time, and he ordered a lot of effort and gold to perfect the magic as a weapon against the White Walkers.”

“We didn’t have a weapon.” 

“It never got used, as Tywin’s successor didn’t know about it.” 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“The alchemical formula for the thing has been offered for sale, and Cersei planned to meet a courier to purchase it.”

“I don’t like where this is going.” Brienne was now poised on the edge of her chair. 

“Ser Byron is the courier.” Tyrion pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I know deceit is not a thing you are good at, but you are in a unique place to keep him here in Bronzegate. Then, when Cersei sends someone to meet him, we will be one or two steps closer to finding all her spies.”

“What do I do?” The woman looked lost.

“Offer him a position. A title? Flirt? Kiss him? Propose marriage? Anyway, make him think he has a chance.”

“He did wear my favor at the tourney. And he’s been paying me ridiculous compliments since he was rescued.” She rolled her eyes.

“Alright, so he is halfway there already.” He forced a grin.

“What about Jaime?” There was that worried, pained frown again.

“This is just for a couple of days. It will give you time to figure out what you want with my brother.” 

“Is Jaime in danger?”

“Not if he stays the fuck away from you, and Ser Byron, and whatever poor idot Cersei is sending to meet him.”

“Tyrion, how do I get through this?” 

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Figure out where you want to be at the end. Do a thing that gets you closer, then do another thing. Keep doing that.”

“I keep Ser Byron here.” She stood. The square-jawed expression of determination might have convinced Tyrion if her lower lip hadn’t been trembling.

“I’m going to loan you one of my bodyguards to stay with Cora. She’ll look and act like a serving wench, but don’t be fooled.”

Brienne nodded. “Thank you.”

“Now, go be fascinating at Ser Byron. Bat your lovely blue eyes and laugh at his jokes. I will take care of everything else.”

Hill and Hanne were waiting in the corridor when Tyrion closed the door behind him. 

“Hanne, you will see if you can assist the Lady Brienne and her servant to care for Miss Cora Lefford.”

“I’m not trained as a servant.” She leaned casually against the stone , and Tyrion wondered which weapon she would bring out if she needed to kill someone.

“A mute servant? Perhaps even one who isn’t that clever. We can find you a ragged dress, an apron, and a cap.”

“This isn’t what I signed up for.” The line of her jaw got a little tighter, and her dark eyes were fixed on him as if she were deciding when, exactly, he was going to meet the Stranger.

“The girl is my niece. I’ve lost too many blood relatives in the last few years. If I can loan her my own bloodthirsty nursemaid for a few days and make sure she comes out of this mess alive, I’m happy.”

Hanne nodded, but the frown didn’t go away.

/*/*/*/*/*/*

“Lord Buckler sets a fine table!” observed Tyrion, addressing Jeyne. “It is particularly appreciated after a week on the road. Amazing what fresh air does for one’s appetite.”

Jeyne Buckler smiled, and sat more stiffly upright. Etiquette required that a man of Tyrion’s station receive utmost respect and politeness, however, her interests probably lay finding herself someone charming, handsome, and a lot taller. “Did you enjoy the melee, Lord Lannister?”

“I am very sorry I missed the event,” Tyrion lied. “Who was the last knight standing?”

“The youngest Ser Martel felled Ser Byron with a mighty blow.” The girl glanced down the table at the Lady Brienne and Ser Byron. “Ser Byron was carried off the field senseless, but it looks like he won something after all.”

Tyrion avoided answering by signaling one of the lads for more wine.

/*/*/*/*/*/*

Tyrion’s small, third floor guest chamber seemed even smaller with Jaime pacing back and forth between the window and the far wall. Outside, it was fully dark, with clouds obscuring the stars.

“Find me weapons and armor,” demanded Jaime. 

“No.” Tyrion finally unbuttoned his cloak, and flung it in the direction of his bed. 

“I need this! I’m going to enter the tourney.” The tall man paused in front of Tyrion. “I need to convince her.”

“It won’t happen.” Tyrion rubbed his forehead. He had not been looking forward to this conversation.

“Please! I was close enough to touch her, and she was like the damn Wall.” 

“Jaime!” Tyrion wondered what would happen if he smacked his brother. “Tomorrow is the joust.”

“Get me a damn horse!” His brother had never been very good at keeping his voice down.

“I know a thing or two about jousting, brother.” Tyrion dragged two chairs to face away from each other. “I spent some months learning the art for a traveling show that involved armored dwarves jousting from the backs of pigs. The pigs were quite clever and well trained.”

Jaime frowned. “When did that happen?”

“I was overseas for a bit, trying to avoid letting anyone collect the price on my head.” He adjusted the chairs to approximate the position of the pigs just before the lances and knights collide. “I needed to eat, and someone just happened to have a small empty suit of armor they needed filled so the show could happen.”

“Oh, that.”

“Your mount awaits. Sit.” Tyrion waved at the chair, and reached onto the table to grasp a tall candlesticks and a large round tray with handles. “Your horse, brother.”

Tyrion managed to climb onto his chair, one leg on either side of the chair back. It was even less comfortable than the real horse had been. He congratulated himself on not dropping anything.

Jamie sat, crossing his arms on the chair back.

“Excellent. Here is your shield.” Tyrion held out the tray, and his brother easily reached his hand out to grab it. He did not look impressed, but turned the circle of metal bottom side towards Tyrion on the other chair.

“Now, take your damn lance and tell me you still want to fucking joust tomorrow!” He threw the candlestick to the taller man.

Jamie reached out with his right arm and watched the candlestick fly through the air just beyond the end of his sleeve. 

His surprised expression shifted to anger, and he leapt to his feet. The chair went one way, the tray flew in the opposite direction. “What in seven hells am I supposed to do?”

“Wait.” Tyrion kept his voice soft, and wondered when Lord Buckler’s servants were going to try and come in to break up the fight. “Your giant woman hasn’t seen you in years. Maybe she didn’t think she needed to forgive you if you were too dead to appreciate it.”

“I’m here now.” He bent to pick up the chair. “She has Cora!”

“Cora is safer with Brienne right now, and one of my people is guarding them. Things are happening, you need to wait.”

“Wait for what?” Well, he was a little quieter this time, although he was pacing again.

“Why are you being so suspicious of me?”

Jaime held up a finger. “Not telling me about Brienne.” A second finger went up. “You probably didn’t tell her about me, either.” A third finger joined the other two. “And, on top of that…”

“Trust me.” Tyrion wondered if the lightning weapon was actually some way to channel the power of Jamie’s anger into the physical world. “Our sister was planning to be here on two errands. One of them was to get you married, which you will now have to sort out yourself.”

“I’m trying!” 

“The other involves a shady business deal, and I’m here to make sure that one doesn’t actually happen. You just need to stay clear for a few days while I clean things up.

“Our sister involved in anything shady? Seven forbid!”

“Yeah, I know.” Tyrion sighed and slid awkwardly off the chair. “Jaime, I know it is the hardest thing in the world, but promise me you will stay away from the Lady Brienne until she approaches you.”

“Cora!”

“She has given me her word to keep the child safe, and I’m giving you mine. Wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Tyrion doing dwarf jousting on a pig" is from A Dance With Dragons. I am not certain if it happens in the show. Off camera somewhere, maybe?


	25. Jaime XIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by ShirleyAnn66.

**Warning: Mention of rape.**

***/*/*/*/***

Jaime glared at Tyrion. “I _cannot_ wait! She is already betrothed to him.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow and waddled to the side table where he poured two goblets of wine.

“Him?” he said as he returned and handed one goblet to Jaime.

“Ser Byron.” Jaime gulped down his wine and strode to the side table to pour himself another one.

“Ser Byron?”

“Byron the Beautiful.” Jaime sighed and suddenly his anger was gone, replaced only with a bone deep grief. “Have you seen him?”

Tyrion shook his head. “I have, however, heard much talk of him. Why? What do you know about him?”

“Nothing.” Jaime hesitated to name Ser Byron as their long lost cousin Tyrek. Tyrek had been a boy of thirteen, after all, when he disappeared more than ten years before, and men changed significantly as they grew from boy to man. “He looks like me,” was all he said.

For once, he seemed to catch Tyrion by surprise. “A Lannister bastard?” he said.

Jaime shrugged and poured himself a third goblet of wine. He had a sudden memory of Cersei, surrounded by empty wine bottles as he helped her to her bed. He hid a shudder and vowed to control himself this night, no matter how much his heart may hurt.

“Mayhaps,” Jaime said. “I’ll be curious to hear what you think when you see him.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “What I think of him as a rival for Lady Ser Brienne’s affections?”

Jaime sighed. “As her husband.”

Tyrion’s eyes widened. “You sound as if you have given up.”

“She is already betrothed to him. Brienne will not break her word without good reason.” Jaime’s smile was bitter. “I suspect my return from the dead will not be a good enough reason.”

They sat in somber silence then Jaime straightened his shoulders and steadily met Tyrion’s gaze.

“You were right,” he said. “Thinking I could participate in the joust to win the favour of the lady was…”

“Stupid?”

“Foolish.”

Tyrion shrugged. “Love has always blinded you.”

Jaime looked away. “Yes.” Then he leaned closer, his eyes intent on his brother’s face. “Brienne has made her decision, Tyrion. Mayhaps it is time I learned to be clear-eyed instead.”

Tyrion coughed a little on his sip of wine. “What, exactly, do you mean?”

“I broke Brienne’s heart when I left her in Winterfell. I do not deserve a second chance from her.”

“Jaime—”

Jaime raised his stump to stop Tyrion’s words.

“Mayhaps for once I should think of what is best for Brienne…but I must speak with her. Just once. Privately. As soon as possible. Can you arrange it?”

“Jaime…”

“Can you?”

Tyrion sighed. “Let me speak to Podrick. If anyone can convince Lady Ser Brienne to speak privately with you, it will be him. She will not trust me again any time soon.”

“Do you blame her?”

“No.” He cocked his head to one side and said, “For what it’s worth, Jaime, my intentions were good. I wanted to fix some of the damage I caused by releasing you from your chains and arranging your escape with our sweet sister.”

“If you had not I would not have Cora. I have cursed you many times over the years, but I have blessed you even more because your actions allowed me to have her.”

“Do you still love Cersei?”

“As my sister and my twin,” Jaime said. “We have not been lovers since I left for the North.”

“Yet you stayed with her.”

“She was Cora’s mother although she denied her soon enough. And...”

Tyrion watched him, a wary look in his eyes.

Jaime sighed. “She had no one else, Tyrion. And I had only Cora...and her. I could not just turn my back, no matter how tempted I was.” He grimaced. “Exile has not sweetened her tongue.”

“You are free of her now, if you choose to stay that way.”

“If I stay here, in Westeros, you mean.”

“I have some empty keeps in the Westerlands. You could make a new start. You and Cora. You can even claim her as your legitimate daughter. None would know and even fewer would care.”

Jaime hesitated then said, “What will happen to Cersei when she arrives in Pentos?”

“Cersei will survive. She always does.” Then Tyrion grimaced and spread his hands into a shrug. “Plus she will find herself receiving offers of friendship and support from strangers, no doubt because she is still beautiful and irresistibly charming. Or so she will believe.” He met Jaime’s eyes and his smile was bittersweet. “She’s my sister, too.”

*/*/*/*/*

They each had another goblet of wine then Tyrion left to seek out Podrick while Jaime sought his own rooms and, after checking on Syros, he fell into his bed and into sleep.

In the morning, Jaime wandered the tourney grounds with Syros. While Jaime’s heart yearned for Brienne and he wondered if Tyrion would be successful in winning him an audience, he could not help but smile at the childish wonder his charge showed as he soaked in the sights and the sounds of it all. Jaime couldn’t remember ever being so young. Mayhaps he never had been.

It was at the stables as Syros watched with wide-eyed fascination while the horses were readied for the jousting that Jaime received the message that the Lady of Storm’s End had deigned to grant him fifteen minutes of her time.

And no more.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime walked into the solar Lord Buckler had set aside for Brienne’s use and found her standing ramrod straight at the opposite end of the room, a round table between them. Her eyes were cold as he closed the door behind him and took two steps towards her.

“That is far enough,” she said, her voice harsh and clipped. Jaime stopped in his tracks and gave her a helpless look.

“You have fifteen minutes,” Brienne said, picking up the small hourglass on the table in front of her. Jaime knew it measured exactly fifteen minutes and not a single grain of sand more. “When all the sand has run through, you will leave and I will thank you to never bother me for an audience again.”

She turned the hourglass over and placed it on the table with a decisive click.

The sand began to pour.

“You have always been a woman of your word,” Jaime said, mocking.

Anger flared in Brienne’s eyes. “You are not the one wronged here.”

Jaime softened. “No.” He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair then shook his head. “I have many things to say and now that I am here, I don’t know where to begin.”

He stared at Brienne, drinking her in like a man who had been dying of thirst.

“I will not stop the sands from falling so you can find your tongue,” Brienne finally said after the silence had stretched on. “You have thirteen minutes.”

Jaime smiled. It was oddly comforting that Brienne’s will was as strong as ever.

“Very well,” he said. “First, for what it is worth, my lady ser, I did not know you were Lady B.”

Brienne snorted. “You expect me to believe Tyrion would have kept my identity a secret?”

Jaime shrugged. “’Tis the truth and you are only here because I promised to tell you the truth, are you not? Whether you choose to believe me is beyond my control.”

She looked surprised at that before she rallied and smoothed her features into an expressionless mask.

“How could you not suspect that I was Lady B?”

“The last news I had of you, you were Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. I had not expected you to break those vows. Was it at your request?”

Brienne’s eyes flickered. “The King had need of a new Warden of the East when Lord Gendry renounced his title and joined Arya in the new lands she had discovered. When he asked, I could not refuse.”

“I see,” Jaime said. He couldn’t help the bitter twist to his lips. “Tyrion failed to provide me with any of the details or court gossip.”

Brienne’s eyes narrowed. “So you truly thought you were writing to a woman you had never met?”

“As you truly thought you were writing to a man you had never met.”

Brienne shook her head. “Are you still so devoted to Cersei that you would agree to sell yourself for an army?”

“Cersei and I ended long ago. I have a new love now for whom I would do anything.”

Brienne’s eyes widened.

“Cora is my life,” Jaime said, “and yes, I would have hired myself out like a common whore if it guaranteed her happiness and safety. As it was, Cersei thought I could fetch a higher price as an exiled Westerosi highborn sold to some desperate highborn lady who could find no suitable husband.”

“And Tyrion agreed to help her.”

“Tyrion agreed to help Cora. And me.”

Silence fell, the air between them thick with pain and rage and, at least for Jaime, regret.

Brienne finally looked away and nodded significantly at the hourglass.

Jaime chuckled, a wealth of affection and sadness in the sound. “Three more things, my lady ser, and then I will remove myself from your presence. First, I am sorry if I hurt you that night in Winterfell.”

“If? _If!_ I loved you!”

“And I love you! But I had to return to Cersei and I had to ensure you would not follow me.”

“Why?”

“You have already met the reason. You seemed quite fond of her, in fact.”

Brienne stared at him, and as Jaime watched the emotions flash through her eyes, he wondered if she could possibly hate him more.

“So while we...while you...” She stopped, swallowed, then lifted her chin. “While we were together in Winterfell, you knew Cersei was expecting your child...and you never told me.”

“I never thought you would need to know. Tyrion had promised to take the child, once born, and give it to a good family who would care for it and who would never know its origins.” He raised his hand to stop her words. “It was for the child’s sake. Daenerys was going to win the war but Tyrion was certain he could convince the Dragon Queen to be merciful to the child, so long as the child was never known to be a Lannister, and most certainly never known as Cersei’s child. Or mine. When we received word that Cersei had executed Missandei...I knew there would be no mercy shown, not even for the unborn babe in Cersei’s belly. I had to do what I could to save her and I could not take the chance that you would come with me.”

“Why not?”

“Cersei once strapped a septa to a table and allowed Ser Robert Strong to rape her to death,” Jaime said in flat, dead voice. “What do you think she would have tried to do to you?”

Brienne’s eyes widened and she swallowed. “That was my choice to make,” she said.

“No, Brienne. It would have been mine and I was too craven to face it.” Jaime bowed his head then looked her in the eyes once again. “I am sorry. Truly.”

For the first time he saw a softening in her face before she caught herself and retreated behind her walls. She glanced at the hourglass.

“Five minutes,” she said, her voice tight.

“I cannot bear to break Cora’s heart by taking her away before she can witness the last of the tourney, nor can I do so to Syros, the young boy I have been hired to train. Once the tourney is over, however, I expect Cora to be returned to me and I will remove us from your presence. You will not hear from me again. I swear it.”

“You’ll take Cora?” Brienne said, and now it seemed as if she were having true difficulty forcing the words out.

“She is my daughter and I will not give her up, not now we’re back in Westeros and I have no more need to worry if my highborn would-be bride will accept her.” He paused then said, “I’ve said before I saw you have grown fond of her. If you will allow it, I will send you letters from Cora but I will need to write them until she learns her letters. Until that time, I swear her missives will contain only her words, never mine.”

Brienne hesitated for long moments then she bowed her head. “And I shall write only to Cora. Never you.”

“Of course.”

“Where will you take her?”

“Tyrion has offered me a small holding in the Westerlands. The family did not survive the wars and the keep has been sitting empty for several years. Tyrion and I have yet to decide upon a name, but Cora will be known as my legitimate daughter, not my bastard.”

“The King has agreed to this?”

Jaime shrugged. “If not, there are any number of ruined farms in Westeros. We will simply be another family looking for a new beginning.”

Jaime glanced at the hourglass.

“Two minutes,” Brienne said and Jaime allowed himself to believe there was a note of dismay in her voice.

Jaime said, “The final thing is to advise you to seek out as much information about Ser Byron as you can before you wed him. You must know he’s a Lannister of some kind?”

“He looks like you,” she said, her voice dry. “I suspected.”

Jaime nodded. “Dig deep into his past, my lady ser.”

“Being a bastard does not matter as much as it used to.”

“If he is who I believe he is, he’s no bastard,” Jaime said, his eyes on the hourglass as the final grains began to pour through the skinny neck that he wished with all his heart would conveniently close so his time with Brienne would never end.

“Then what does it matter?”

It took all of Jaime’s strength to turn away, to walk to the door, to put his hand on its handle. He turned back for one last look at her. He would see her again, of course, on the dais beside her betrothed and Lord Buckler and his family. But not like this. Privately and close enough to see every freckle, every line, every twitch of her lips, every fleeting shift in expression. He stared at her, memorizing the exact shade of blue of her beautiful, beautiful eyes. He would leave her again when he walked through that door and he wondered if his heart would literally shatter this time as he did so.

“Jaime?” she snapped as the last grains trickled through. “What does it matter?”

Jaime opened the door.

“If he _is_ my cousin Tyrek then he already has a wife.”

*/*/*/*/*


	26. Tyrion II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by Clearance_Unicorn

“Do you ever get tired of your lies, my lord?”

From another man, that would have been an insult, but Temmen Bentbrook’s tone was conversational, one professional talking to another, and Tyrion only laughed. “If either us tired easily of lying, we’d be in the wrong line of work. You especially.”

“Me, my lord? I’m a banker.” A hint, just a hint, of amusement in Bentbrook’s dark eyes as he glanced down at Tyrion before turning his attention back to the horses thundering towards each other down the lists.

Tyrion matched his dry tone. “Yes, a banker.” They’d met for the first time when Bentbrook had answered King Brandon’s summons. Answered both late, well after most people were abed, and unexpectedly: none of Tyrion’s men had noticed the man ride into King’s Landing, or spotted him on the way up Aegon’s Hill to the Red Keep. By the light of the oil lamps in the Small Council chamber, the man’s eyes had been flat black discs with no difference between pupil and iris. Dark eyes, dark clothes, dark hair liberally salted with grey, and a face older than his easy, upright bearing.

Tyrion had studied him, and been certain that Bentbrook was studying him in turn, for all the man’s gaze was steady and respectful on the king. _We will be deadly enemies or the closest of allies,_ Tyrion had thought, watching Bentbrook as he withstood one of King Brandon’s terrifyingly well-informed conversations as calmly as if they were discussing the weather. _There’s no in-between, not with this one._

Now Bentbrook leaned forward a little as the next pair of knights took their places. “Do you have money on this one?” Tyrion asked.

“In a manner of speaking. The one closest to us, with the green and yellow shield, is my son.”

Tyrion hadn’t known the man even had a son, let alone a son who was a knight. “I wish him good fortune then.”

“I wish him not to be killed,” Bentbrook said, his tone as dry and even as ever.

The horses pounded down the lists again. Both lances broke, and squires ran forward with fresh. “He rides well,” Tyrion said.

“He should, the amount of money I’ve spent on him.”

The horses came together again, and this time only one lance held. The green and yellow knight was triumphant. “House Bentbrook victorious,” Tyrion said.

“For now.” Bentbrook turned away from the lists. “So the lady names her fair betrothed as your cousin.”

“My brother did suspect that there was one who had a hand in his disappearance.”

“An heir in hand is worth two in the wild,” Bentbrook said, nodding slightly. “A complication, but a minor one.”

Tyrion shook his head. “Not minor. That cousin is wed, although I hope not bedded, given the age of his bride.”

“Your plans tangle themselves, my lord. Mayhaps you should leave the scheming to others.”

“Mayhaps you should find out for certain if the lady’s question is answered yay or nay.”

“And would you also like a friend to visit the young man, perhaps under cover of darkness, at a time when the lady may see?”

“No. I have already meddled to the edge of my promises to another. This, I can justify to her as a means to ensure they spend time together, and my brother keeps his distance. It’s easily undone, with an apology for my misunderstanding. To go further, though … no.” Tyrion turned his back on the lists, surveying the crowd. “Forgive me, but I must ask … you do _know_ , don’t you?”

“I have five names, and by tomorrow I will have three more. That is all of them, I think.”

“You _think_.”

Bentbrook shrugged, the merest lift of his shoulders. “Only a fool is certain he knows all there is to know, my lord. I did caution against this plan.”

“The formula is not the same,” Tyrion said, more sharply than he’d meant. “There’s no harm to be done.”

“There’s always harm to be done,” Bentbrook said.

“Then see that you’re the one doing it,” Tyrion said, and walked away.

*/*/*/*/*

Ser Byron the Bloody Beautiful was seated beside Brienne in the stands, the maesters having advised that after the blow that had felled him in the melee he should not risk another strike to his helm that day. Tyrion could observe them at his leisure. The boy _did_ look like Jaime, his Lannister blood clear in his height and his beauty and his tumbling blond curls. He even had Jaime’s green eyes.

 _Sansa, Sansa_ … He would never have permitted himself to address the Queen in the North so familiarly aloud, but in the privacy of his own head, Tyrion allowed himself to call the slim girl who had grown into a great and regal queen by name. _Sansa, what are you doing? Is this boy a Lannister bastard, or Tygett’s heir in disguise? Do you even know?_ He didn’t dare entrust the questions teeming in his mind to a raven, and by the time a rider reached Winterfell and returned with an answer, the thing would be done.

Climbing up the stairs to the back of the stands, Tyrion made his way along the row to where Brienne and Byron sat. A glance, and the Stormland’s lord seated beside Ser Byron found reason to be elsewhere. Tyrion bowed to them both, and hopped up onto the vacated chair. “Ser Brienne, Ser Byron. I understand I owe you congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Brienne said, and Ser Byron gave Tyrion a sunny smile. That was _not_ like Jaime, whose smile had always had a sharp edge to it.

“Ser Byron, I’m surprised our paths haven’t crossed before now,” Tyrion said. “Your feats in the melee show you experienced, but I have not seen you at any tourney.”

“Perhaps I was a mystery knight,” Byron said.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. “And what reason would a fine young knight such as yourself have to hide your face and name?”

Byron shrugged. “Many a great knight has done so, and many a man has wished to emulate Barristan the Bold and Duncan the Tall.”

“What was the first tourney you entered, then?”

“I rode in the tourney at the Gates of the Moon, hoping to be one of the Brotherhood of Winged Knights, but I was unhorsed early.” Byron smiled, that easy smile again. “I met your lady wife, as she was then, there. Later I rode north with the Knights of the Vale to fight for her.”

“Quite the modern fashion, Lannisters fighting for Starks,” Tyrion said. Byron stammered a little, and Tyrion gave his meanest grin. “Oh come now, Ser Byron. You and I may not look alike, but surely you’ve seen a mirror, and other members of my family, over all the many years you’ve been fighting as a mystery knight.”

Byron glanced at Brienne, who was gazing down at the jousting as if it was the most fascinating thing she’d seen. “I claim no family name,” he said. “Nor do I wish to.”

“My family tree has been severely pruned in recent years,” Tyrion said. “If I learned I had a cousin, I wouldn’t much care from which branch he sprouted. Surely I’m not the first to remark on it, Ser Byron. Her grace the Queen must have seen the resemblance immediately.”

“She spoke of it,” Byron said stiffly. _Poor boy. You fancied yourself a great liar, but then, you hadn’t met me_. “She respected my wishes in the matter.”

 _Tyrek._ Tyrion was certain now. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Dear cousin, Ser Brienne is very dear to me. It would pain me greatly to know that the man paying her such fine attentions was not, in fact, free to do so. I hear Lady Ermesande has grown into a fine girl.”

Tyrek blanched. “I don’t – who is – I don’t know –”

“I don’t know what you or her grace the Queen are playing at,” Tyrion said, still very softly. “But if your affections are not sincerely given to my friend, well. Perhaps my family tree has not been pruned quite far enough.”

He patted the lad on the arm and hopped down from his chair. “And now, Ser Brienne, Ser Byron, I must take my leave. I do hope you enjoy the rest of your day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So again, mixing book canon with show canon here and then making a bit up. Byron met Sansa as Alayne Stone at the Gates of the Moon, in a plot line that didn’t happen in the show because Baelish married her off to Ramsay instead. There’s no indication in AFFC that Ser Byron has the faintest clue who Sansa is at the time. Now I can’t undo that whole stupid marriage plot that happened in the show, so I’m going to say that before Baelish lost his mind completely and thought marrying Sansa to Ramsay was in any way a good idea, the tourney at the Gates of the Moon happened off-screen, and Byron found out that Alayne was Sansa at some point.


	27. Brienne XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by SeeThemFlying

That evening, Brienne retired to the solar Lord Buckler had reserved for her, alone. Ser Byron… Tyrek… whatever his name was had asked her if he could to attend to her, but she refused, saying he should go and enjoy the festivities. He had seemed a little put out by that, but eventually agreed. Brienne knew there were many hundreds of whores plying their trade in the surrounding area – if he wanted a warm bed, he would have to go to one of them. That was the sort of thing men liked, wasn’t it?

Podrick had come in early in the evening to ask if she was quite well, and she thought about inviting him to share a glass of wine with her. He was perhaps the only person in the world who had her complete and utter trust but, even so, she wanted to be alone and so told him to go and have fun. Sensing there would be no changing her mind, he had left the room, although not before leaving her with a bottle of wine and a goblet.

Brienne ensconced herself by the fire, pouring herself a glass of wine. Even though she was not in the North, she kept it blazing. She knew she should be thinking about Ser Byron – what he wanted, his plans, his motives – but in that moment her thoughts were entirely on Jaime Lannister, risen from the dead. When she had suspected Jaime Lannister and Jaime Lefford were one and the same, she had been excited by the prospect, but once she was confronted by the physical evidence that he still lived, she had been overcome by the shame, despair, and fury she had felt on that last night at Winterfell.

She had given him time in the hope that he could adequately explain what had happened between them, but in those fifteen minutes two parts of her had been at war. There was one that loved him still, that wanted nothing more than to wrap him in her arms and never let him go. The other was still angry, heartbroken, and sad. If he had perhaps got on his knees begged for her forgiveness, the former would have won the battle. Alas, he had only offered her a half-hearted sorry, suffixed by an _if_.

A bolt of rage suddenly washed through her. Why did he think he could just walk back into her life after all this time? When she had first seen him at the melee, he had waved at her, _waved_ at her, like they had only been separated half a day. Abandoning her wine, Brienne crossed to Lord Buckler’s unfamiliar writing desk and pulled out some parchment and a pen. In her short meeting with Jaime, he had eaten up all the time with his words, his explanations, his excuses. It was as it ever was; him talking, her silently receiving. Determined to have a voice, she decided to write him one final letter to give to Verra to pass along when it came time to hand Cora over. Picking up the pen, she began.

_Jaime,_

_I gave you fifteen minutes and you told me your version of events. I would need the rest of my life to tell you mine, but I will try to keep it to two sides of parchment._

_The night you left me at Winterfell to return to your sister’s bed, you hurt me in a way I did not think possible. For the whole of my life I have been an ugly beast who has been mocked and derided, with roses thrown at my feet, and suitors trying to hurt me because they despised me for the way I look and my decision to wield a blade. Before you, I was aware I was not made for love and was prepared for a life without it. Yet, for a few weeks at Winterfell, you made me feel like everything I had ever wanted was possible; that I loved you, and you loved me, and that was enough. Those days were the happiest of my entire life, because I felt loved by you, the man I had spent years silently longing for. Yet I now know that was not the case. In our early letters as Lady B and Ser Jaime Lefford, we spoke of the limited value of “windy words”. You said you loved me then, you say you love me now, but your actions say otherwise. I have had three years to think on those nights, and I can now see you were just lonely, sad, and needed a friend. Nothing more. Even though I dream it were different, you have always been Cersei’s. You say you left me to save Cora, but you have still lived with Cersei in Pentos for three years, most probably sharing her bed. I never had a chance. So, I no longer look for your love. It only brings me pain._

_Yet even if you never loved me, I thought I had your friendship and respect. Friends do not treat one another so cruelly. Watching Renly die in my arms was hard, but watching you ride away was even worse. I was certain you were dead and there has not been a day that has passed when I have not thought about what pain you must have been in during your last hours. To find out you are alive and you had not thought to inform me? I missed my_ friend _, Jaime, almost more than my lover. And to know that you wrote to Lady B and poured your heart out to her, yet never thought to write a scant note to Brienne of Tarth to tell her you lived? It is too much._

_As one of my first acts as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, I finished your page of the White Book. I wrote your story – our story – how I saw it. How your honour was traduced unjustly when you saved a city, how you lost a hand to protect me from rapers, how you sacrificed your childhood home for a greater strategy, and how you came to the North to fight for the living, even when you were surrounded by people who had every right to despise you for your birth. I concluded with the statement that you had died protecting your Queen, because I knew you did it for the only love that has ever resided in your heart. With that, I wrote myself out of your narrative. I committed my abandonment to the page, my status as the second best, because history needed to know you were a good man, even if you never believed it. I have never read what I wrote again, because as far as I was concerned our story was over. With you being dead for three years, I have never had to grapple with what we once were to each other. You could forever be a what if. Perhaps in the Westerlands, you can be Ser Jaime Lefford, and Jaime Lannister will stay dead. Perhaps it is better that way._

_This is jumbled and rambling because I do not even really know why I am writing. Maybe I cannot let you have the last word. Maybe I had to tell you that I love you and I will always love you, until the day I no longer have breath in my body and my heart stops beating, and even beyond then._

_I am a fool for it._

_Brienne_


	28. Brienne XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written by Meriwyn

The following morning, Brienne rose and dressed, mentally preparing herself for her duties of going out to say her proper farewells to everyone who had attended the tourney. She hated the social aspects that went along with being the Warden of the East, but she realized it was a necessity and so she played the game.

She walked to the window and stared out at another beautifully sunny, breezy day as she did up the laces of her tunic before donning her long leather coat. She sighed loudly, still tired as she did not get much sleep over the course of the night with Jaime at the forefront of her thoughts. How could she be so angry with him yet love him so desperately? She wondered if she would ever fully understand romantic love. Love for family, friends, and the like she knew like a second skin, but loving men like Renly and now Jaime was a complete mystery to her. Especially when they did such idiotic things.

Turning back towards her bed, her eyes fell on the letter she had written to Jaime last night, the wax seal on it shining in the sunlight that fell across the room. She walked over to where it rested on her nightstand and ran her fingers over the parchment. Finally, she picked it up and gently slid it into the pocket of her coat, strapped _Oathkeeper_ around her hips and set out.

She exited Lord Buckler’s chateau via the door to the stables. She wasn’t quite ready to face people yet and figured there would be the least amount of activity here. She was right. She walked slowly amongst the stalls, looking at all of the different horses that were being kept there. They would be significantly emptier later this afternoon once most of the knights and others had left for the trips back to their homes.

Brienne walked down the row until she came upon a pale grey stallion lazily munching on straw. She smiled and leaned against the door to the stall. The horse walked slowly towards her and nuzzled her hand. Brienne ran her hand up and down its face.

“Hello, pretty boy,” she said softly. “Aren’t you magnificent?” The stallion swished its tail and its ears went forward, interested in Brienne. “I wish my life were as simple as yours, I would love to just go running through a field somew—…”

“Brienne! Brienne!” It was Cora’s voice.

Brienne jumped and looked around, and at the far end of the stables stood Jaime with Cora in his arms, Verra following behind, sulking at the fact that Jaime’s attention wasn’t on her. Cora was squirming and twisting in Jaime’s arms, trying to get down.

“I want Brienne!” she was almost crying. Jaime was having a difficult time holding onto her with only one hand, and she eventually slipped out of his grasp enough that he had to put her down. As soon as she hit the ground, she ran at Brienne and plowed into her leg, reaching up to her.

Brienne sighed and reached down to gather Cora up into her arms. Cora’s hands went immediately to Brienne’s face. She leaned in close and started to cry. Brienne’s face fell into a mask of concern and she held Cora with one arm and stroked her hair with the other hand.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” Cora sobbed. In reality it had been the better part of one day. “Don’t you want to see me anymore?”

Brienne’s heart broke. “Oh, my little love, of course I do,” she gathered Cora onto her shoulder and stroked the back of her head and her back. “I’m sorry, I’ve had things to…attend to,” she said as she watched Jaime slowly approach her, his face somewhere between fear and crying himself.

Cora’s arms went around Brienne’s neck as she heaved sobs into Brienne’s shoulder.

“Don’t you love me anymore?”

Brienne closed her eyes against her own tears. “Of course I do, darling, don’t ever doubt that. We’re going home soon, alright? I promise.”

Cora’s crying began to subside and she pulled back to look at Brienne’s face. Cora nodded. “Alright.” She began patting Brienne’s face again.

Brienne’s eyes slid to Jaime, who gave her a small smile before he looked at the ground. Brienne turned her attention back to Cora.

“Cora, my love, can you be a brave girl and do something for me?”

Cora’s eyes lit up and she nodded. “Uh huh.”

“I need you to go with Verra for a little bit and get some food from one of the merchants. I need to talk to your papa for a bit, alright?”

Cora immediately perked up. “Okay!”

“Give me a kiss,” Brienne said, smiling. Cora leaned forward and gave her a loud smack on her cheek, giggling afterwards. She was returning to normal. Brienne put her down and Cora took Verra’s hand. Brienne pressed a few coins into Verra’s palm. “Get her whatever she wants.”

“Yes, my lady,” Verra said meekly, not really wanting to leave Jaime alone with Brienne.

“Come on Verra,” Cora tugged her along. “Let mumma and papa talk.”

All three of the adults’ faces were shocked at that statement. Verra looked even more distressed as she let Cora drag her away.

Jaime turned to Brienne. “She really loves you,” he said quietly. Brienne nodded.

“And I her,” Brienne said distantly, watching Cora and Verra walk away. “And it seems Verra loves _you._ ”

Jaime shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, I don’t love her,” he said, his eyes fixed on Brienne.

Brienne returned her gaze to him and for a few silent moments they just stood there looking into each other’s eyes. Finally Brienne jerked her head towards the door that led outside.

“Walk with me.”

Jaime obeyed, trailing after her like a sulky child. She led him outside around the back of the stables, where it was more private. She was pleasantly surprised to find a small bench there. Brienne sat down while Jaime just stood there, not quite sure what he was supposed to do.

“You were kind enough to let me know your thoughts on everything,” Brienne said to him in a flat tone. She slowly reached into the pocket of her coat and brought out the letter she wrote him. “Now it’s my turn.”

She reached out and held the letter out in front of him. His eyes went from her face down to her hand, looking at the letter as if it were going to burn him. Slowly he reached out and took it from her.

“Apparently I’m better at pouring out my heart to you in writing,” Brienne said.

Jaime smiled softly and moved to sit next to her on the bench. He broke the wax seal and set about reading. Brienne gave him as much time as he needed, and she watched as he read and re-read the letter a couple of times, his face becoming more and more distressed as he went along. When he was finished, he sat there frozen, the letter hanging from his fingers.

Brienne watched as he began shaking. His hand first, followed by his arms and then his shoulders. His breathing became erratic and heavy. Brienne’s heart seized and all she could do was watch as Jaime Lannister slowly and thoroughly crumbled to pieces.

Tears began falling from his eyes, down his cheeks and into his beard. He clenched his eyes shut and let out a sob. He slowly slid off the bench and onto his knees, his shoulders hunched and his body trembling. He leaned forward and steadied himself on his hand, and let the tears come.

Brienne simply watched him and let him cry. She made no move to touch him or speak, she just waited.

Jaime eventually turned and moved to her, sliding himself in between her legs. He wrapped his arms around her waist, buried his face in her lap and sobbed uncontrollably. His left hand gripped a handful of her leather coat as he wrapped his stump even more tightly around her. Brienne sat motionless for several moments before her heart couldn’t take it anymore and she brought one of her hands up to softly run her fingers through his hair. Jaime began to sob even harder and grip her even tighter.

“Now you know,” she whispered. “Now you know what it’s been like for me.”

“Oh, Bree,” his voice was strained and thin. “Bree, I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” he choked out between sobs. “My love, you were never my second choice, and you were never _not_ a choice. You are my only choice. I never returned to her bed, that wasn’t what I wanted. I haven’t been with her since before I went to Winterfell, I swear it.”

The words were spilling out now and Brienne made no move to stop him.

“I meant everything I said and did when we were together in Winterfell,” Jaime continued. “I loved you then, I love you now, I’ve loved you the entire time we’ve been apart,” he pulled her even closer to him, seemingly trying to crawl inside her. In addition to stroking his hair, Brienne moved her other hand to his shoulders and gently rubbed him.

“I don’t know why I did what I did, the way I did it. I should have told you what was happening.”

“I would have understood.”

Jaime nodded against her hip. “I know, I just thought I was saving you by pushing you away. I didn’t want you anywhere near King’s Landing, I didn’t want her getting her hands on you. I couldn’t bear any harm coming to you. Anything I did I did for Cora, and Cora only. Never Cersei. And I fell asleep every night with your name on my lips and I awoke every morning aching for your touch.”

He finally brought his head up and rose up on his knees to look her in the eye. His face was tear-streaked, his eyes red and swollen. He reached up and took her face in his hand and his stump.

“If you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to put things right between us, I swear it, Bree, I swear it,” Jaime was becoming agitated and panicky again.

“Alright, alright, calm down,” she tried to soothe him, running both of her hands through his hair now. Overcome herself, she leaned forward and put her arms around his head, drawing him against her chest as he quietly cried again. “Shhhh, it will be alright, somehow we’ll figure this out," she pressed a soft kiss on the top of his head.

“But you are betrothed to another,” Jaime said, his voice turning angry. Brienne pulled back and took his face in her hands.

“Jaime, look at me,” she said softly. “What I’m about to tell you must stay between us, as quite a few people’s safety depends upon it, do you understand?”

Jaime looked into her eyes, lost in a sea of sapphire blue. He nodded.

“I understand,” he whispered.

“I mean it, Jaime, I’m deadly serious. I shouldn’t be telling you at all but I can’t bear for you to think me false.”

He nodded again. “I promise.”

Brienne took a deep breath and looked around to make sure they were still alone. She then brought her forehead against his.

“My betrothal to Ser Byron is not as it seems, it is a ruse.”

Jaime drew his brows together in confusion. Brienne had to explain quickly.

“Tyrion believes your sister is involved in a situation where she is attempting to acquire some kind of weapon that is even more powerful than wildfire.”

Jaime’s eyebrows shot up. Brienne continued before he could say anything.

“This Ser Byron, or whoever he really is, is acting as a go-between for the interested parties, or so Tyrion believes. He asked me to play a role in keeping Ser Byron in one place so that he can’t deliver his messages and then hopefully the parties on either end will make themselves known. When Ser Byron began paying me flowery compliments, I did the only thing I could think of, to accept his advances, but I do not love him.”

Jaime breathed out a sigh of relief and nuzzled his nose against hers. “Thank the Seven,” he whispered.

“But it is imperative that it stays between us, people’s lives could be at stake, people we love.”

Jaime continued rubbing his face against hers. “I understand.”

“But I think I have a solution on how we can help each other and keep an eye on each other, and how I can begin to rebuild my trust in you,” Brienne said. Jaime perked up at that.

“What?”

“You and Cora need a home, and I’m still short a master at arms,” Brienne said, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Come and fill that position for me, and that way you, Cora, and I can be under the same roof, even if we have to act distantly for a while. It will help my heart knowing that you both are safe and that I don’t have to give her up. We can continue to make sense of all that's happened between us, and you can have more time to explain yourself. And finally, Ser Lannister, can begin to pay your debts.”

Jaime looked so confused it made Brienne feel bad for him. "I know it's much to take in all at once, but once we return home I'll find times when we can be alone to explain it all to you."

Without realizing what she was doing, Brienne brought his lips up to hers and kissed him softly. She felt him press his lips back harder against hers, his tongue gently working its way into her mouth.

When they pulled apart, Jaime broke out into a grin against her cheek. “Bree, I want nothing more than to be with you. If this is how it has to happen, I gladly accept.” He suddenly grew shy and dropped his gaze. “Does this mean you still love me?”

Brienne took his hand and brought it to her chest, where she pressed his palm flat against her, splaying his fingers out. With her other hand, she gently lifted his chin until he looked her in the eye again.

Brienne smiled at him. “It’s yours…it will always be yours.”

And Jaime Lannister cried again.


	29. Jaime XV

Jaime XV

Jaime considered Brienne’s expression. She was sitting next to him on the stone bench, and his knee was touching hers. She was not trying to escape, she was not calling him names, just holding worry in her blue eyes and tension in her shoulders. He folded her letter carefully, with all her words about pain and love, and tucked it inside his shirt.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. “I know where I am now. I spent three years lost, and I can’t fix that in a few minutes.” Jaime was tired. It was like after arguments with his father, except this was different. With Brienne, he had some hope.

“I know where you are now,” she said. There was a quick smile that flashed her teeth for just a moment. “Do I keep you on a leash, like a hound, or train you to a lure, like a falcon?”

“Please stop teasing me, wench.” He was pleased by her blush, as she realized what she had implied.

“I’ll be serious.” She stood, tall and beautiful. “Before your daughter and the others come back, I’d like your permission…”

“For what? What would you need to ask?” Hadn’t he just told her she could have anything she needed?

“While we are in Bronzegate, I’d like to see if one of the horse traders has a suitable pony for Cora. Surely a father gets to decide when his daughter learns to ride?”

“You will pick her the gentlest and most proper pony in all of Westros.” Jaime got to his feet. 

“Yes. And by the time she’s full grown, she will have the skills to ride anything with four feet.” 

He tried to imagine small Cora full grown, and an unfamiliar emotion filled him. It was both warm and sharp.

“Will you come with us?” Brienne’s shy smile was a terrible temptation.

“I’m afraid I need to go find my Pentoshi student, Syros. I’ve been neglecting his education.”

Brienne’s gaze wandered away from him, and he turned to see Cora, holding a small cake in each hand. Vera followed her, and there was Syros, and that dark-haired servant girl who seemed to be holding herself like a soldier.

“Bri!” yelled his daughter, and broke into a run. She held up one of the little cakes for Brienne, who accepted it with a smile.

“One for you, papa!” This one already had a small nibble out of it, and he suppressed a chuckle.

“Thank you, sweetling. But what will you eat?”

“There are four more, here.” Verra held up a cloth. She sat on the bench, and offered food to Cora and Syros.

“Did you eat, Hanne?” asked Brienne. The servant girl waved a small loaf of bread, and perched on top of a bale of hay where she could see everything. 

“Jaime,” said Brienne, after a bite of cake. “You and Syros should visit Lord Buckler. He has the largest collection of Dothraki blades I’ve ever seen.”

“That does sound educational. Syros?”

/*/*/*

Lord Buckler was delighted to receive Ser Lefford and the lad from Pentos. 

“I’m always glad to show off my collection,” he rumbled as he unlocked the iron door and swung it open. “My people are always on the lookout for the new and unusual, or the old and rare blades.”

“I have been told you have the definitive collection,” offered Jaime, who hoped he wasn't committing himself to anything. He was used to evaluating a knife or a sword by picking it up to find its balance, and trying to cut some things with it. 

He and Syros followed their host inside. The stained glass windows let in squares and circles of light. 

“The room was empty after I had the new chapel built. Isn’t it a lovely place for showing blades?” The long room now held heavy tables of dark wood, and armor on stands, lined up like soldiers on guard along the stone walls.

Syros was frozen in awe.

“Focus on one thing at a time!” Jaime tapped his elbow. “The best and the shiniest aren’t always the same ones.”

There was a coat of mail with a dragon emblem worked in links of colored metal. “Not the modern Targryn dragon, but the ancient version of their emblem!” explained Lord Buckler.

“Lovely,” replied the boy. “Are those swords from the same ancient time?” Jaime thought the curved swords were for mounted cavalry, and the mail shirt would have bunched up uncomfortably if you tried to mount a horse.

Syros was now lost in thought next to a table with what seemed to be about a hundred different daggers.

“I was expecting to see your sister, Ser Lefford.” Jaime edged away from the row of elaborately worked left gauntlets. Could he never leave Cersei behind? That small cake did not seem to be sitting well in his stomach.

“Circumstances required her return home,” explained Jaime. “She was quite upset to miss the tourney.” Lord Buckler didn’t need to hear about his sister’s rage. 

“Well, with you here in her place, she will have what she desires.” The lord opened a small stone box, and held a crystal the size of an egg in his hand. He blew on it, and whispered a word. Writing seemed to swim through it. 

Jaime nodded, confused. Cersei wasn’t ever going to have what she desired. There was always something out of her reach.

“I haven’t quite gotten the trick of it,” Buckler said. “But I assure you it is genuine.”

Syrios approached. “I’ve seen those in use. They used to call them glass books. May I?”

The boy buffed the crystal against his sleeve, let out a puff of air over the thing, and said some words. Jaime thought the language sounded strange, but he wouldn’t know High Valerian from Old Dornish. Maybe he should have studied harder when he was young.

“My father uses his to keep his ledgers.” The sun shining through the crystal left shadows in the shape of words, and some pictures of strange devices. “No telling what this one has in it.”

The boy shifted his fingers on the clear stone, and the words melted into other words, then into other words. “Some of them are like a book, with pages of writing. This isn’t a ledger, though.”

“The Lady Lefford was seeking this one,” explained the Lord, who stretched out his hand for the strange crystal.

Syros objected. “Wait, there are other things.” He shuffled his feet to move the crystal into a brighter patch of sunlight. The words on the floor got brighter and sharper, then flowed into a picture on the smooth tile.

“The set of three contains the full notes of the alchemist who developed it,” Lord Buckler puffed up his chest. “Very costly to bring here.”

The shadows on the floor were in the form of a ruined tower, as if viewed from a nearby hill. Birds circled lazily, then scattered as dark clouds seemed to roll in from all directions at once. Lightning flashed from cloud to cloud, and then started to find its way to the tower. There was a sphere of light, then everything blew away, and there was no tower, and there were no birds.

What would remove an entire stone tower? What would someone do with such a weapon?

Jaime could hear the blood pounding in his ears.

What would Cersei do with such a weapon?


	30. Brienne XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Clearance_Unicorn.

_The gentlest and most proper pony in all Westeros_ … it was a tall order, especially without the wider variety that would have been available in King’s Landing, even out of tourney season. Brienne looked inside ears and scrutinised teeth, making sure to keep a watchful eye on Verra and Cora. The Pentoshi girl kept a tight hold on Cora’s hand and kept them both a safe distance from the ponies. Her wide eyes and air of wariness suggested that she had very little experience with horses of any kind. Hanne stood near them, gaze raking the crowd. Brienne was once again glad she was there. Tyrion might have said that Hanne would look and act like a serving wench, but to any experienced eye, she carried herself like a fighter on the edge of a brawl. _Anyone who intends harm to Cora will find it’s the last thing they ever intend in their lives._

Brienne had to fold herself down to feel the fetlocks of the pony she was currently looking over. The little dun mare was truly tiny, her withers not much above Brienne’s knees. _I could quite probably pick her up_. She was sound, though, young enough to have no grey hair on her black face but old enough to stand calmly unconcerned as a strange, very large, human ran hands over her legs and back.

She looked over her shoulder and up at the horse trader, a small man who could probably have been easily carried by his larger ponies. “Go on, then. Persuade me.”

He grinned at her, a stem of grass in the corner of his mouth. “ _You_ persuade me, milady. She’s a fine sweet girl and I’ll see her treated well.”

Brienne gave the pony one last stroke on her nose. “I’m the Lady of Storm’s End. We have a good stables and an excellent stablemaster. She’ll be –”

“Kicked and pummelled by your bad-tempered sons?”

“I have no sons, and if I did, I’d thrash them for mistreating a horse,” Brienne said. “I’m looking for a pony for my ward, her first.” She raised her hand and beckoned to Cora and Verra. They came closer, Cora far more eagerly than Verra. “She has no experience with horses, but I promise you, she’ll be taught well.” She reached under the rail and took Cora’s free hand. “Come here, sweetling, and tell me if you think you and this little pony can be friends.”

Cora tugged her other hand free of Verra’s grasp and let Brienne draw her close. “Hello,” she said to the pony.

“Here.” Brienne held Cora’s hand out. “Fingers flat, that’s right. Let her smell your hand.” It really wasn’t necessary: the pony was so placid that Brienne could probably have set Cora straight on her back without mishap. _Best to start as you mean to go on, though_. She guided Cora through the steps of making friends with a strange horse, the little girl gaining confidence until she was leaning against the pony’s side and stroking her neck. “Mind your feet,” Brienne cautioned. “Even a horse that loves you can accidentally step on your toes.”

“She’s _beautiful_ ,” Cora said. “She’s the most beautiful _ever_.”

That was, perhaps, a justifiable opinion coming from a little girl making her first equine acquaintance: to Brienne’s eyes, the pony was stumpy legged, barrel-bodied, and shaggy. She stood like a rock under Cora’s affections, though, not even a flick of ear or swish of tail betraying any irritation. She glanced up to see the horse trader regarding her with obvious amusement. “So? Have I persuaded you?”

“Aye, she’ll do,” he said. “How long do you want to haggle over price, then?”

Brienne suppressed a sigh. “Can you not name me a fair price and be done?”

“Two dragons.”

_Obviously not._ “Fifteen moons.”

He grinned at her. “I have children to feed! One dragon, twenty moons.”

Brienne rose to her feet. “Twenty moons, and a place at the Storm’s End horse fair at half-tax for the next two fairs.”

The horse trader had to tilt his head back to meet her gaze, but he didn’t seem the least bit inconvenienced. “One dragon, and the next four years, quarter tax.”

“Twenty moons, one hundred stags, the next _two_ years, half tax.”

“Done.” He spat on his palm and held his hand out.

Brienne dropped her left hand to the hilt of Oathkeeper and they shook on the bargain. “Does she have a name?”

He shrugged. “I call all the mares _girl_ and all the stallions _boy_. Saves complications.”

“Can we take her now?” Cora asked. “Can we?”

“No, honey,” Brienne said. “It’s too loud and crowded out there right now. When everyone’s quietened down, that’s the time to move horses.”

“But she doesn’t mind!” Cora protested, arms tight around the pony’s neck. “She really doesn’t!”

Brienne crouched down. “She’s a very good and good-natured pony, but horses aren’t like people. Even a brave horse gets startled by loud noises and sudden movements. It wouldn’t be kind to her, to take her with us right now.” She put her hand on Cora’s shoulder. “But don’t worry. She’ll be stabled with my own horses by tomorrow morning, and you can go on making friends with her, alright?”

“Alright.” Cora let the pony go with one final pat to her neck. “I wouldn’t want her to be unhappy.”

“That’s right.” Brienne steered Cora back to the rail, waiting for the girl to duck under it before she stepped over. “She’s bigger than you, but you’re the person, so you have to do the thinking for her, and part of that is thinking about what’s right for her, not just what you want.”

Cora looked up at her. “How do I know?”

Brienne smiled. “Well, for now, you ask, and listen. The more you take care of her, the more you’ll know for yourself.”

“Can we show papa?”

“We can,” Brienne said. She stooped to pick the girl up. “If we can find him. Can you see him?” She scanned the crowd, but Jaime was nowhere in sight. Turning, she looked the other way.

“There he is!” Cora cried –

At exactly the moment Brienne saw Ser Byron striding towards them, face pale and set.

*/*/*/*/*


	31. Brienne XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by SeeThemFlying

“Ser Byron,” said Brienne as her betrothed drew level with her. Once he was this close, Brienne could see there were stress lines on an otherwise beautiful face. Not quite looking at her, he gave her a stiff bow. She found it a little strange; Byron was usually so effusive. “Is everything well?” she asked gently.

“Oh yes,” he said, giving a little nod. “It’s just that I received a message from a dear cousin of mine. She has fallen on hard times and is quite… irked… about her situation. I was just in your solar; I hope you don’t mind, but I used the writing desk to compose a quick note to her reassuring her everything is well.”

“Of course,” replied Brienne. To the world, he was her betrothed, so there was nothing she could deny him. “Was that your only letter?”

He shook his head. “No, I also wrote to the Queen of the North.”

“Sansa?” said Brienne, bewildered. “How do you know Sansa?”

“We met when I was a young nameless night in a tourney and she nothing more than a bastard named Alayne…” Was there wistfulness in his eyes? “She had heard of our betrothal and wanted to wish us both well.”

Brienne felt that was a little strange. Why had Sansa not written to her? Soothing herself, she thought maybe Maester Basaol was currently sitting on Sansa’s well wishes at Storm’s End. “Did you get your replies sent?”

Byron nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

“What is the reason for your concern then?” asked Brienne. “Surely such an expression warrants more pressing concerns than a few letters.”

Byron’s mouth curled up in something approaching a smile. “Word is that Bronzegate’s sewers have flooded.”

Cora giggled at that while Brienne said, “what?”

“Lord Buckler is currently sending round servants to let everyone know. One came to your solar while I was writing. He sent our host’s apologies but said that it may be in our best interest to leave earlier than we were planning. Maybe as early as this evening.”

Brienne sighed, looking at the pony they had picked out for Cora. They would leave as soon as it was quiet enough to move her. “We must get everything prepared then,” said Brienne a little tersely. She turned to Hanne and Verra. “Verra, please would you go and organise the rooms being packed up. We did not bring too much with us, so it should not take too long. Hanne, would you be so kind as to go and alert Lord Tyrion to our departure and tell him he is welcome at Storm’s End whenever he is next able to make the journey. I plan that we will spend the night at the Applecross Inn; it is only a few miles from here. We will undertake most of the journey tomorrow.” Verra and Hanne both nodded and began to follow her instructions.

Brienne then turned to Byron. “Ser,” she said, “I will go and thank Lord Buckler for his hospitality…”

“No!” said Byron suddenly. “I’ll go.”

Brienne furrowed her brow. “Why?”

Byron fixed Brienne with one of his very beautiful smiles. “As you said, I wish to thank him for his generous hospitality. Also, if we are to be man and wife, it will be a good opportunity to ingratiate myself with one of our nearest neighbours.” Brienne could not argue with that logic, so she nodded and let him kiss her hand before he departed. Not thinking another moment on him, she went to organise their departure from Bronzegate.

*/*/*/*

The news of the flooding sewers meant that everyone at Bronzegate was desperately trying to leave before the stench reached them. Brienne was so concerned with packing, preparing to depart and looking after Cora that she did not have time for personal matters. Consequently, she eventually had to send Podrick to find Jaime and tell him of the plans for departure. They were ready to leave by late afternoon. As she told Hanne and Verra, the journey to the Applecross Inn was not far, and they should hopefully be there by nightfall. When Hanne did not return from speaking to Lord Tyrion, Brienne had one of Lord Buckler’s servants courier a letter, telling her to meet them later at the Inn. Consequently, the group that left Bronzegate for the Inn consisted of herself, Jaime, Podrick, Verra, Syros, Cora, and Byron.

“Can I ride my pony?” Cora begged Brienne.

“No, sweetling,” whispered Brienne gently. “She needs to be trained before she is ready for you to ride. Why don’t you ride with your Papa?”

“No!” moaned Cora, “I want you!”

Brienne shot a sideways look at Jaime and, when he gave a warm nod, Brienne let Cora clamber up on her horse with her. The four men had their own horses, although Podrick also held the reigns of Cora’s pony in his hand, so the mare could trot along beside them. Verra, an uncomfortable rider, rode side saddle behind Podrick. The second her arms scooped around his chest, the young squire went bright red, but Brienne was not blind; she saw how Verra’s eyes were only for Jaime.

Although the journey was short, Brienne would have liked nothing more than to spend it talking to Jaime, but instead found herself penned in by Syros, who was asking her questions about Storm’s End, being a knight, and being a _lady_ knight. Brienne answered his questions politely, but the boy babbled all the way to the Inn. She tried not to feel a tad irritated by Jaime’s amused grin at her predicament. On arrival at the Inn, Brienne sent everyone inside to get the rooms ready and find something to eat. Jaime objected, saying the Lady of Storm’s End shouldn’t be taking care of the horses.

“I am fine,” she smiled before dropping her voice, “in truth, I want a few moments to myself after being talked at by Syros for so long.”

“Perfectly understandable,” said Jaime, letting out an amused chuckle. Her heart warmed as he authoritatively began leading the others into the Inn, barking orders at Podrick, Syros, and even Byron in order to get everything ready for his lady.

 _He’s real,_ she thought. _He’s alive, he’s real, and he’s here._

Brienne spent some time in the stables just feeding the horses, stroking them, and calming them. She barely noticed the moon rising in the sky until she felt her stomach grumble in complaint. In response, she went into the Inn searching for supper. It was fairly quiet, so she could easily spot her companions; on one table sat Verra, dawdling Cora on her knee, Pod (whose eyes were only for the blonde Pentoshi girl), and Syros, who was talking and talking and talking. It only took a moment for Brienne to spot Jaime and Byron – their matching gold hair so brilliantly illuminated by the fire – as they were huddled together in a corner having an intense, but whispered, conversation. Not wanting to interrupt, she went over to the first table to take a bowl of broth with the others.

“We have two rooms,” said Pod. “The innkeep suggested one for Ser Jaime and little Cora, and another for you and Ser Byron. Would that be amenable?”

Brienne turned her eyes to the two men by the fire, thinking of how much she would much rather be sharing a room with Jaime. “Yes,” she said. It was perhaps a little unusual that Brienne should share a room with her betrothed, but beggars could not be choosers. “Where are you all going to sleep?”

“The innkeep said we could all huddle round the fire down here,” said Pod. “She said she had some spare blankets.”

Brienne nodded. “Be aware that Hanne will also be arriving before too long. Make sure you save a little space for her.”

With that, she took a sleepy Cora off Verra, promising to take her to Jaime, before biding goodnight to her companions at the table. Once they had responded, she went over to Jaime and Byron. They both fell in to a forbidding silence the second she approached.

 _What were they talking about?_ she wondered.

“My lady,” they said in unison, both offering her a little bow. Even their voices were similar.

“I think it is best we retire,” she said softly. “Cora is tired.”

“Where are we to sleep?” asked Jaime. He used a tone he had once used while they were curled up under a pile of furs at Winterfell. Brienne tried not to blush.

“There is a room for you and Cora, and one of Byron and I. Come.” She tried not to look at Jaime’s slightly disappointed face as the two men followed her upstairs. Only when she was outside the door to her room did she stop and hand Cora over to Jaime.

“Ser Byron,” said Brienne, “why don’t you go and get your bed prepared? We will not be sharing tonight, and I wish to have a word with Ser Jaime.”

Byron looked a little sullen. “What about?”

“Preparations for tomorrow.” Byron shifted his eyes warily between the two of them before disappearing into the room. Once he was gone, Brienne turned to look into Jaime’s intense green eyes.

“What did you _really_ wish to speak to me about?” he asked softly.

“Nothing,” she smiled. “I just wished to say goodnight.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why?”

She shrugged, “because I haven’t been able to for three years… and now I can.”

Brienne had not been sure of how he would respond, but it was not that he would lean forward and press his forehead to hers, before softly, but deeply, kissing her. Part of her wanted to resist – they were still building things – but most of her wanted to grasp hold onto every second she had with him. It was not lustful or passionate, as Cora slept between them, but it was full of love.

Jaime’s lips were still pressed to Brienne’s when Byron opened the door. “Ser Byron!”

His green eyes darted backwards and forwards between the two of them, as if he were suddenly weighing up every plan and stratagem he had ever had. Brienne pulled back sharply, but it was too late. She had spent years being called the Kingslayer’s Whore behind her back; she did not want new rumours starting. She tried to think of an excuse, an explanation, but Byron seemed strangely emotionless. To her surprise, Byron did not look at her; instead, his eyes were fixed on Jaime.

“Goodnight, _Ser Lefford._ My betrothed and I will see you in the morning.”

Jaime gave a stiff nod, which was difficult with Cora in his arms. “Of course, _Ser Byron_ , I’ll see you on the morrow.”

There was something about the way the two men had said the other’s name that made Brienne’s stomach roil.

After one, final, warm look at Brienne, Jaime made his way down the corridor to the second room, disappearing behind the door with Cora. Even though she wanted nothing more than to follow him, Brienne instead turned back to Ser Byron, before making her way into their chamber. It was a little room and, as she had ordered, Byron had set up a little pallet at the foot of the bed to sleep on. “We must get ready for bed,” said Brienne, trying to fill the silence.

The two of them faced away from each other as they got undressed; she did not even ask him to help her with her armour, it would have been too intimate. They only turned to each other once more when she was in her soft linen nightgown, and he just his breeches. When the silence had lingered on for too long, he spoke.

“Do you still intend to marry me?” he asked.

She did not have an answer. “Let’s talk about this in the morning.”

The flicker of emotion on his face showed her that he knew it was over, yet he did not cry or complain. Brienne knew it was because his flattery had been entirely hollow; there were no real feelings there. Consequently, not needing to mind his heart, she said nothing to him as he laid down on the pallet, nor as she began to put her money and most prized possessions into the strongbox to the side of the room. Brienne was surprised to find that much of it was already occupied by the large bag Byron had appeared with after talking to Lord Buckler, and it meant there was no room for Oathkeeper, which had to be balanced against a wall.

Ignoring Byron completely, Brienne curled up in bed, making sure she slipped a small dagger under her pillow.

 _Just in case…_ she said to herself. _And anyway, if Byron does anything, Jaime is only next door…_

It was the thought of Jaime only being next door that lulled her to sleep, and the knowledge of his nearness pervaded her dreams. She spent the night once more in Winterfell, warmed by the fire, the wine, and his burning skin. Once, those dreams had been sad, but now they were full of promise and hope.

It made the shout that woke her up all the more terrifying.

Blinking rapidly, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness, she looked round the room. Ser Byron was not there, and she suddenly noticed the door was unlocked; she had made sure to bolt it tight before she went to sleep. Had he just gone for a piss? Feeling a lurch in her stomach, she walked over to the strongbox, only to find it entirely empty.

Just then, the door burst open. It was Jaime.

“Brienne,” he said, his voice ragged and panicked, terror in his green eyes. “It’s Cora. She’s gone.”


	32. Verra I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by diesis

Verra stroked Cora's hair. When they reached the ground floor she cleaned softly the girl's wet eyes and her tiny nose from snot with a tissue.

Cora was not a weeper, not by any means. She'd proudly held back the tears when they left Pentos, and Verra never saw her complaining, not even when Lady Cecilia shouted at Ser Jaime so loud that they could hear her from the other end of their street.

But she was still a child of three, and she'd just been woken up in the middle of the night.

Luckily, she was silent enough.

"Don't cry, my dear, you remember what I said?" Verra forced herself to smile in the dim light of the hall. Cora nodded.

"My pony!" She whispered, forgetting both tiredness and distress, and mirroring Verra's grin.

_It's for her wellbeing and for her safety_ , Verra thought. She didn't like lying to the girl, but this time it was for a good cause. _And it might turn into something good for me as well._

She didn't like lying to Ser Jaime, too.

She loathed it, in fact. She'd never done it before this evening, and it wasn't _technically_ a lie the one she told him when she showed up at his door with Syros: it was true that they were very tired, and that the young rich boy wasn't used to sleep crouched on a bench in the common room of an inn.

Ser Jaime simply shook his head, let them in, and arranged the bed so that the three of them - Cora, Syros and Verra - could all lie down quite comfortably on it. He settled himself on a couple of blankets on the floor, even if Verra offered to take his place.

He was so handsome, so peaceful while he slept. And maybe one day she might be watching him more closely, sharing the other side of his bed.

The night was cloudy and calm, outside. Verra sneaked out from the kitchen door, picked up again Cora, and walked around the building, headed to the stables. The little girl started chattering in a hushed voice about her pony, and the adventures she was going to have, but Verra didn't pay much attention to it. She focused on the task Ser Byron and Brienne had charged her with. _It's the best thing to do for Cora_ , she repeated to herself. She wasn't certain she could fulfil her promise, if she didn't keep it in mind.

"The lady doesn't need Ser Jaime as an husband, since she's already promised to me." Byron had stated when he came to meet her, while she packed her things before leaving Bronzegate. "But she does need an heir. She's barren, that's why she's so interested in Cora."

"But... But..." Verra stuttered.

"Why do you think she was so upset with Ser Lefford this morning? She asked him to keep Cora with her. And he refused."

"How do you know it?"

"I'm her betrothed, my sweet Verra, she shares her plans with me." Byron answered with that bright, gentle smile of his. "That's why she sent me to you. She couldn't speak openly with you, because she doesn't want the girl to hear..."

"Of course she doesn't!" Verra almost shouted at him. "What she's asking me is... wrong!" She felt tears surging in her eyes. She thought back over the day Ser Jaime sent them away from Pentos, to be sure that Cora would not be sold by his sister.

Ser Byron placed his hand on her forearm and smiled again.

"My dear... I know it might seem cruel, but it's not wrong. Not for our little Cora. Brienne and I, we both love her fondly. She'll be raised as a princess, and one day she'll be the Lady of Storm's End. She'll lack for nothing."

"Ser Jaime will be..."

"...free to follow his heart's desire, instead of being forced in a marriage he doesn't want." Byron ended the sentence for her, and it wasn't what Verra was going to say, but she felt her heart melting at his words. _Could it be true?_

Verra knew her own feelings far too well, but never allowed herself to hope that Ser Jaime could reciprocate them. Never until the moment Ser Byron exclaimed "Come on, I saw the way he looks at you!"

Lady Cecilia had implied it as well, back in Pentos, but the woman's demeanour was harsh and her words spilled venom towards both Verra and her own brother. Byron, on the other and, spoke calmly and reassuringly, and seemed glad that Verra and Ser Jaime might find some happiness together.

The young man went on. "We just need your help to bring Cora in King's Landing, so that she can be legitimised by the King himself as Brienne's heir as soon as possible. After that, if it pleases you, you and Ser Jaime can continue to live in Storm's End and spend some time with the girl... "

"And then Brienne said that she knows... she kne... knews my papa..." Cora struggled a bit with words, and that caught Verra's attention. They were in front of the stable door, now, Verra had her fingers on the wooden board.

"She knew him? How?"

"When papa was young, here on this side of the Sea..." Cora giggled "He was her love! And she can be my mother now...". Verra stopped her hand, puzzled, pulled it back from the door. At Cora's words, something snapped in her head - something Ser Jaime had told her a couple of times in Pentos, something Verra chose to ignore back then. But it made sense. What Cora just said certainly was not a lie, but if that was not a lie, then...

Verra turned abruptly, and strode back towards the inn, as fast as she could.

"Verra, why we go back?" Cora asked, her voice a bit louder - a bit too loud. "You promised I can ride the pony!"

"Shhh..." Verra put a hand on Cora's mouth and sped up a little. And then she heard a swishing sound behind her shoulders and suddenly everything went dark.

*/*/*/*

Her head throbbed mercilessly. Light filtered in through her closed eyelids, and it almost hurt. Verra tried to move her neck, and a sharp pain filled her limbs. She let out a muffled groan.

"My lord, she woke up." The man's voice sounded familiar, it seemed to come from under the water.

Verra tried to open her eyes.

"Ja... Ser Jaime?"

Everything around her looked blurry, but she recognised that gaze. The eyes were very similar to Ser Lefford's ones, yet the features - and the size - of the man who loomed over her weren't. Slowly, she recognised the dwarf she saw in Brienne's solar, and then from afar during the tournament. _Tyrone? Tyrin? The Hand of the King, anyway._

Behind him, Podrick looked at her with a worried frown, while a tall guy with light blue eyes and dark hair paced the room, fidgeting with his sword's hilt.

"Will she be better soon, Lord Tyrion?" Syros voice asked from behind her.  
"Sooner than Hanne, this lucky bitch." The dark haired boy spat, without hiding his contempt. Tyrion turned towards him, scowling.

"Out. All of you." He commanded.

She must have dozed off, because when Lord Tyrion spoke again they were alone in the inn's room. "Verra. Verra, can you hear me?" He asked, touching her arm with a hand so small that it could have been mistaken for a child's one. Cora's hands. Cora.

"Cora!"

Verra tried to sit up, but her head was too heavy and her body ached everywhere.

"No, no, stay down, girl." The small man quietened her. He made her drink something from a vial while he spoke. "My b... Ser Lefford and Lady Brienne went in search of Cora hours ago. Now I just need you to tell me exactly what happened, and everything you know about Ser Byron."

Verra shut her eyes again, grimacing. "Gods, what I've done..."

*/*/*/*

Hours later, the pain had slowly receded, she had spilled everything she could remember to Lord Tyrion, and had handled him the small note that Byron gave her for Jaime - he told her that it was from Lady Brienne, but Verra couldn't read, and Byron knew it.

The man's face was deadly serious when he finally stood up from the chair near her bed, and Verra was suddenly aware that he had obtained what he wanted and now was pondering her fate. And she was too weak to do anything about it.

"How old are you?" The dwarf asked her.

"Six... Four-and-ten." Verra admitted, sheepishly. There was no use in pretending to be older, as she usually did to protect herself from people she didn't know. Lies didn't suit her well, after all.

Tyrion remained silent.

"Are you going to send me to the dungeons, m'lord?"

The little man shook his head. "People make stupid things for love, especially when they're as young as you are, Verra. And some of them keep on doing stupid things when they're much older."

He sighed.

"I don't think that Lady Brienne would want you in Storm's End for the time being, and maybe not even later. But I happen to be short of a servant in King's Landing, so when you'll recover enough to ride, Pod can escort you there."

"Hanne?" She enquired.

"She'll recover too. It will take time, but she will. Anyway, if you're willing to learn the same services she provided, we'll find a good Maester at Arms. And you must learn to read."

He turned towards the door, but Verra stopped him. "One last thing, m'lord."

Tyrion came back at her side.

"I guess I won't see Lady Brienne anytime soon. Could you tell her something on my behalf?"

He just nodded.

"I... I want her to know... I am pretty sure that Cora isn't Ser Lefford's daughter, but his niece."

Tyrion's eyes widened in shock, but he didn't say a word. The sound he made was more a strangled chuckle, and Verra wondered if there was anything funny in what she'd just told him.

She went on.

"When they arrived in Pentos the girl was no more than three or four months old. Ser Jaime came in every small shop of our neighbourhood asking if someone knew a wet-nurse, it was the first time I met him. And the nurse he hired, she's a friend of mine, and she said that Lady Cecilia showed all the signs of a recent delivery. Yet, that woman is such a... nuisance. She never wanted to be close to the baby, she used to sleep in the furthest room from Ser Jaime and Cora's one..."

"Why should Brienne be informed about this?"

"Because of Ser Jaime. Once or twice, he told me that I reminded him of a woman he knew here in Westeros, a woman he loved and lost. I thought he was gentle with me because of the feelings he had for this woman." Then he kept on being kind and lovely and she'd fallen in love with him helplessly, but Verra didn't mention that part of the story.

"So?"

"Well, m'lord, I don't know how and how much he wronged Lady Brienne, but I want her to know that Ser Jaime never, ever tried to replace her with any other woman." _Not even with me, no matter how much I could look like her._

"I want her to know that he never betrayed her."

Lord Tyrion furrowed his brow, Verra couldn't tell if it was pity, amusement or something else.

"I thought you were jealous of him, girl."

Verra sighed heavily. "I was. Maybe I still am... But what's the point in being jealous of something that you never had?"

Tyrion's expression softened.

"I think we'll get on well, Verra."

He exited from the room and closed the door silently behind him. Verra closed again her eyes, and fell soundly asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To avoid any misunderstanding, when Byron tells Verra that Brienne is barren, that's one of the many lies he comes up with to convince the girl to help him. He actually doesn't know anything about that.


	33. Byron I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by TeaandBanjo

Byron led the horse out of the stall, and hitched it to a ring near the stable door, in the small pool of light from the lantern. The stallion had been the best available at Storm’s end that wasn’t Lady Brienne’s personal mount. Byron had been planning to ride him in the tourney. Now this animal was going to insure his escape, and his reward. 

He hurried. _Verra would be back soon, with the girl._

He tied the saddle bags securely. Across the top, he placed the lion-hilted sword, and tied it fast with a leather strap. It would not do to leave such a dangerous thing with the Lady Brienne, who was terrifyingly fast with even a tourney sword.

He heard one of the horses shift in a stall, and turned to the noise. No, she wasn’t here yet. _How much longer would he need to wait?_

Byron opened his belt pouch, and pulled out the small wax-covered square. He’d found a hedge witch at the Bronzegate tourney, and he’d asked her for a charm to bring down a horse. She’d sold him the thing, and told him how to use it. Well, he didn’t need it to win the joust, but he could slow down the inevitable pursuit. 

Brienne’s hulk of a mare opened her eyes when he approached, and set her ears back.

“Hold, sweetling,” he whispered. “No hard feelings!” He cracked the wax and unfolded the parchment. There was a mad, dizzying swirl of ink in the center, and somehow the ink still looked wet. 

There was a hand on his shoulder, and Byron felt his knees fold under him. There was an arm around his throat, pulling him off balance and cutting off his air.

He was being dragged away from the horse. He was going to be killed, if he didn’t get the rock-hard forearm off his windpipe. Byron slapped the square of parchment against the bare forearm as he tried to pull the hand away from his neck.

Spots floated in front of his eyes, and he cursed the witch for a cheat, or would have if he could get air in or out. The spots grew, and he still couldn’t pull back against the hold.

Then, there was a weight pulling him down, and he could breathe, and eventually he could see the stable rafters above him. Still panting, he pushed himself up from the floor, and realized that he’d landed on Hanne.

She was totally still, and the strange ink scribble from the charm marked her bare skin.

Byron hoped Verra wasn’t going to be much longer.

/*/*/*

Byron sat in the dirt and scraped shavings off a tree branch. The bare patch of dirt would be suitable for a small fire, and they were far enough away from the road to avoid notice. The horse and tack might be remarked on if he stayed on the road in daylight.

The girl had slept, after a little fussing. The motion of the horse must have been calming. She still slept, wrapped in his cloak, with her head pillowed on one of the saddle bags. 

The sun was coming up. He and the horse were fatigued, from half the night on the road. The horse was tethered where it could get water or forage at its convenience. He’d taken off the saddle, as he wasn’t planning on being back on the road for at least a few hours.

So, he struck flint to steel, and added twigs and small branches to make a fire big enough to heat water in his little pot. Porridge would warm him up, and that was what they fed little children, didn’t they?

While he waited for the water to boil, he rummaged through his bags. There were the oats, and the salt, and he set aside the bundle from yesterday. The golden lion hilt of Lady Brienne’s sword caught his eye. He wished he hadn’t been so tempted. It was much, much too conspicuous. He’d have to take it all the way to Pentos to be able to either sell it or carry it himself. He wrapped it securely in his spare tunic.

The girl stirred, and gazed around with big green eyes. She seemed surprised by the trees, and also by his presence.

“Where’s papa?” she asked. Her voice was small and shy in the open air.

“I’ll tell you later.” Why hadn’t he come up with an answer to the obvious question?

She sat up, and her fat little fingers rummaged around in his cloak.

“Where’s Jo?” she demanded.

Byron dumped a measure of oats into the hot water, then gave it a slow stir with his spoon.

“Where’s Jo?” Her lower lip was pushed out just a little.

“Jo?”

She frowned. “My doll.” Byron was put very much in mind of cousin Cersei.

“What doll?” He remembered Verra pressing a small thing into the girl’s hand as they turned away from the stables. He’d realized she had changed her mind, and swung a piece of firewood from the pile by the door.

“I want my doll!” The small girl was amazingly shrill.

“Shut up about the doll.” The girl had probably let go, maybe when she fell asleep. Six hours of riding, and the stupid toy was long gone. 

“You’re mean!” Byron watched resentfully as the girl pulled his warm woolen cloak more closely around herself and sobbed quietly.

He stirred the pot, again. He thought perhaps he had had his share of crying children for a lifetime. The Lady Ermesande had been a cranky, fretful baby...well, that was a long time ago.

He would deal with this crying child, this time. 

Cousin Cersei occasionally had tasks for him, in his travels, so he sometimes sent her ravens when he got to a new city. This time, the raven had returned a more difficult challenge. 

_Dear Cousin:_

_I miss my darling Cora, and worry that my brother will mistreat her._

_Bring her back to me, in Pentos, and stay with me. I am all alone now, and I need the comfort of a strong man._

_\--C_

He remembered the rumors about Cersei and her twin. Well, he had seen the Kingslayer. The man was old, tired, worn down, and scarred. There was grey in his beard. No wonder Cersei was looking for someone new. 

Byron had been thinking that the Lady Brienne was the one, the way he’d get away from being just another Lannister with no property or prestige. Then, there was Jaime, and she had looked ready to eat him. She must have been hit on the head a few too many times. 

He lifted the pot off the fire, which was almost burned out now. The porridge should be cool enough. Cora was gazing at him suspiciously, and sniffling.

“Breakfast, sweetling?” he cooed, and held the pot for her. He put the spoon in her little hand. Her temper would improve with food, he supposed.

She took a spoonful, tasted it, and dropped the spoon into the pot. “My papa makes better!”

“Your papa isn’t here!” He had the wits to close his mouth before saying any of the rude words that filled his head. “Mine is the best.”

She frowned. “I don’t like it!”

“You need to eat!” He dipped the spoon again, and tried to push it at her.

Cora’s eyes grew stormy. “I don’t like you. You hurt Verra.”

“She was going to keep me from taking you back to your Aunt Cersei. I couldn’t let her stop me.”

“I don’t want to go to Aunt Cersei.” The girl shivered. She looked like a small ghost in her nightgown. “I want to go home.”

He tried his soft voice again. “Aunt Cersei loves you.”

“She does not. I’m going to go tell Papa!” She leapt to her feet and ran, up the hill, and how did she know it was towards the road?

He groaned, and by the time his stiff, weary legs caught up with the girl she was running down the strip of ragged grass in the middle of the road and yelling for Papa.

He lifted her, and she kicked, landing a solid blow before he was able to get her over his shoulder and pin her legs against his chest. That hurt.

“Papa!” Damn her, this had to stop. Her screams would alert someone. He stomped back down to the camp fire.

“Don’t yell!,” he whispered as urgently as he could. “It will bring the vicious badgers.”

She stopped trying to kick him. “Badgers?”

“They eat little girls.” There was another length of rope in the bag somewhere… and there it was. “If you are quiet, they can’t find you.”

He set her on her feet next to the pot of porridge, and tied one end of the rope around the girl’s waist. “Eat!” he said.

Byron tied off the rope to the same tree the horse was hitched to. Cora was important to his future. She could not be allowed to run off, not now.

He brought the bundle back to the fire, and the girl.

“I’ve got a disguise, so the badgers don’t find you,” he said, pulling out a pair of boy’s breeches. They were ragged, but she stepped into them and he tied them. He tore her nightgown to the length of a shirt, and she let him put a fur vest around her.

Byron considered whether to cut the girl’s blonde curls, but decided Cersei might not like it if her niece arrived looking like a badly-shorn sheep. He had a bit of twine, and tied the curls in a bunch at the back of the girl’s neck.

The last item was a knit cap, like a sailor’s. It was striped in blue and white, and he pulled it down to cover the child’s hair. A passer-by would see a ragged little boy, and no one would care.

This was going to work. They were going to ride north to the Fingers. He’d be leaving behind Storm’s End, and everyone who might recognise them. Then he’d find a ship to take them to Pentos. There were many things in Pentos he was looking forward to.

He imagined Cersei, and his hands slowly sliding a green silk dress off her luscious, smooth body. He’d show her he was a better man than Jaime Lannister. 

  



	34. Jaime XVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Roccolinde

Jaime was a fool. An absolute blundering _fool_. Standing in Lord Buckler’s hall and watching in horror at the plans Cersei had been so willing to sell him for, he’d managed some delicate sweet talking and promises and then practically dragged Syros as far away from the blasted thing as he could manage. He’d found Tyrion, passed the information on, and considered the whole thing done. It was over. His brother could deal with all the conniving, he just wanted to go home--which was wherever his daughter and Brienne were--and not deal with it. He hadn’t questioned the sewer problem, so long as it got him _away_. Seven hells, even after that tense conversation with Ser Byron, quite clearly the former Tyrek Lannister, the two of them circling around what was best for the Lady of Storm’s End like a couple of hungry lions prepared to fight, he’d believed it was coming to an end. So he’d kissed her good night.

He’d kissed her good night, and now his daughter was paying for it

“How long has she been gone?” Brienne asked, somehow commanding even in sleep clothes.

“I don’t know. Verra and Syros came upstairs not long after we parted. He couldn’t… he couldn’t sleep? So I left Cora in the bed with them and took the floor, and then…” The blood was pounding in his ears, threatening to drown out everything else, and he was moving but some distant part of him was aware that it wasn’t _right_ , it was erratic when he should be methodical, and he swore to every god he knew that if that miserable _bitch_ of a sister had hurt his daughter he would kill her himself, he would make another golden hand just so he could choke her with it, he--

“Jaime.”

Her tone was kind but firm, as was her hand on his arm. He blinked and focused on her eyes. Blue. Not green. Blue.

“Jaime, go wake Pod. I’ll speak with Syros and Verra--”

“Verra’s gone too. Cora wouldn’t wander, she must have taken her.”

The news took her aback, but she nodded.

“Then I’ll speak with Syros, see if he was awakened by them leaving the bed. Get Pod, Hanne if she’s arrived. Have one of them ready the horses.” She paused for a moment, jaw set. “We’ll find her.”

“I don’t--”

“I _swear_ to you, Jaime. We will find Cora.”

Brienne did not make oaths she did not intend to keep, and she’d kept them in circumstances far more unlikely than this. He had to believe her. He did believe her. Breathing deeply in an attempt to calm himself, he watched her grab a dagger from beneath her pillow--her sword was gone, he realised, along with almost everything else--and begin to dress, every action methodical.

The sight set his feet in motion, and the next few minutes went by in a blur: Hanne was yet to arrive, but Pod was easily woken and furious; Syros came down, apologising profusely for not protecting Cora as a knight should have (“Hush,” Brienne had told him, a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Jaime had marvelled at how _good_ she was. “A knight must simply learn from their mistakes.”); the group exited the inn to head towards the stables, only to find Verra’s unconscious form upon the ground. Jaime’d has a perverse urge to kick the girl when he saw her--it was his daughter--but she was just a child, really.

“Take her inside, Pod,” he’d hissed, his skin threatening to burst with all the worry clawing at him, already moving toward the stables, Brienne several steps ahead.

She had saddled the horses quickly, giving Syros instructions as she did; Jaime wanted to shout at her for being so calm, as if it wasn’t his daughter that was missing, his world in the hands of some fucking idiot willing to put Cersei Lannister back on the throne at any price. It had to be Cersei, it was always Cersei. But as Brienne handed him the reins of his mount, her blue eyes bright in the moonlight, he saw the absolute terror hidden in their depths, and he realised he wasn't alone.

/*/*/*

Brienne had borrowed Podrick’s sword, leaving him with Verra and Syros at the inn, along with instructions to have Hanne follow them if she arrived. It was late enough that it seemed more likely she’d stayed at Bronzegate, but any chance of help… Pod had nodded and Syros had offered to come too, and Jaime had only convinced him to stay so he could tell Tyrion what they’d seen with Lord Buckler that afternoon. Brienne had looked at him in surprise then and he’d motioned that he’d explain once they were away, but silence reigned as they rode from the Applecross Inn, each of them far more focused on Cora’s disappearance than some scheme. They had been travelling for at least a half hour when Brienne spoke, her voice low and steady.

“This is my fault.”

Whatever Jaime expected Brienne’s first words to be, those were not amongst the possibilities.

“I doubt that immensely.”

“It is,” she insisted. “Byron _said_ he’d written to his cousin who had fallen on hard times and I was so… preoccupied that I didn’t-- I should have realised. You warned me to be careful and...”

In the moonlight, he saw her hands twist around her reins.

“Brienne…”

She turned back and he maneuvered his mount alongside hers, reaching up to grasp the nape of her neck and pull her close so their foreheads touched. It was awkward, but worth it when her warm breath ghosted against his face.

“I shouldn’t have loved her,” she said quietly. “Everyone I love--”

“Is blessed more than they can ever know,” Jaime interrupted, and despite the situation felt himself smile as he added, “And I dare you to try and defy Cora when she decides you are someone to love.”

She huffed a laugh, a tear escaping the corner of her eye.

“We should keep going,” she said. “Ser Byron must have come this way, and he’ll have left some trace.”

Nodding, Jaime pulled away and they began to ride again. It was several hours of silence broken only by an occasional murmur, a pause whenever that spotted signs of a recently passing horse. The first tendrils of daylight reached them as Brienne pulled up short and smoothly dismounted, her hand on the pommel of her sword. Jaime saw why a moment later--amongst the scrub on the side of the road there was a doll.

Cora’s doll.

Brienne picked it up, her mouth in a firm line, glancing around the area once before securing the doll safely in a saddle bag and remounting her horse.

“The doll is not damp with dew,” she said. “They cannot be too far ahead.”

They exchanged a look, and the certainty in her earlier promise finally, truly settled over Jaime. They would find his daughter. _Their_ daughter. And woe betide anyone who tried to stop them.


	35. Brienne XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by SeeThemFlying

Despite the promise offered by the discovery of Cora’s doll, as the sun rose and then began its journey through the sky, there was still no sign of the little girl or her captor. As more and more time passed, further hope trickled away like sand in an hourglass.

“They must be close…” Jaime would say, over and over, and Brienne wish she had something more to offer him than encouraging nods. In reality, she was as lost and confused as him. In a short space of time, Cora had come to mean so much to her, and it was not just that she was a vulnerable innocent who was so quick to give Brienne her love; it was that she represented a new start. Brienne had thought Jaime’s story had finished with those ominous words in the White Book – _he died protecting his Queen_ – but now there was the chance for a new tale, where the Kingslayer and the Maid of Tarth were just Jaime and Brienne, and they could have a life together with their child, who had her father’s green eyes.

_Our child._

They spent their day trying to track Byron and asking passers-by if they’d seen a young blond man with a little girl. After deducing that Byron had decided to dress Cora up as a boy, they quickly realised he had picked a path that led ever northwards, which made no sense. Jaime said as much.

“This path he is taking makes _no_ sense. Why go north? If he wants to take a ship to Pentos so he can take Cora to _her,_ surely it makes more sense to go south, either to Storm’s End or even to Griffin’s Roost if he didn’t want to be spotted.”

The picture became clearer when they reached Haystack Hall and some passing cattlemen told Jaime and Brienne that they had spotted Byron heading east. From there, they had managed to pick up the villain’s scent, and discovered he had suddenly decided to head in an erratic path towards the coast.

“Do you think he was scared we were following him?” asked Brienne.

“He better be scared,” said Jaime ominously. “Very, _very_ scared.”

By the evening, they arrived at a little coastal fishing village with no name which looked out into Shipbreaker’s Bay. There were only a few ramshackle fisherman’s cottages and nothing in the way of any harbour that could hold a large vessel for long.

“Did he try to row to Pentos?” asked Brienne confusedly.

Jaime let out a bitter laugh. “I tried that once. It never ends well.”

Eventually, they decided to ask the villagers if they had seen anything useful. One old woman, who was busy leaning on her hut chewing sourleaf, was fairly forthcoming.

“The handsome lad and the little boy, you say? Yes, I seen ‘em.”

“When?” asked Brienne breathlessly.

The old woman thought for a moment, showing her teeth which were stained red with the sourleaf she was evidently so fond of chewing. “Oh, I’d say mid-afternoon. He sold his horse to Stupid Tom, then bought a row boat from Robin Redhead. He was just in time, because when the clouds came over a huge ship appeared on the horizon.”

“What did it look like?” asked Jaime.

“Big, sleek thing with red sails. My Harry said it looked like a Pentoshi junk, and My Harry knows his boats he does, and the blond lad himself confirmed it saying it belonged to some merchant with a foreign sounding name – Dego Raz, or something.”

Jaime’s face was pale as he said, “Rego Draz.”

“You know him?” asked Brienne, fear rising.

“Yes. My sister was very fond of playing him _The Rains of Castamere_ every time he came for dinner.”

With that, the old woman continued her tale. “The blond lad took Robin Redhead’s boat, loaded his bag, that flashy sword of his, and the little boy and rowed all the way out to the junk. Once they were safely aboard, the ship disappeared over the horizon. I suspect they’re halfway to Pentos now.”

After a day of heavy riding, this bad news was more than Jaime could take. “Seven hells!” he shouted suddenly, kicking the air in frustration. “She’s got her Brienne, _she’s got her.”_

In a moment, Brienne found she had her arms wrapped around him, stroking his back in a way she hoped was soothing. “Not yet, my love. It takes several days to get to Pentos, it will likely take Byron some time to find her, and once she has her, she won’t likely do anything with Cora immediately. We have time.” Seeing Jaime’s distress, Brienne turned to the old woman. “It is vital we go after them; that boy the young man was carrying was not a boy at all, but a little girl. Our daughter. He’s kidnapped her, and we must get her back.”

At the mention of _our daughter,_ Jaime looked up from Brienne’s shoulder and straight into her eyes. His expression was so full of love and tenderness that it took all Brienne’s strength not to overpower him and kiss him madly right in front of the old woman and her fallen down hut.

“Oh no,” said the old woman. “That’s a terrible story.”

“Is there anything you can do to help?” asked Brienne desperately. “Do you know the nearest place we could pick up a ship heading to Pentos?”

The old woman wrinkled her brow before saying, “I don’t know of no ship, but My Harry is leaving for Evenfall Hall in an hour, after he’s had his broth. He’s a fishmonger, you see, and sells the village’s catch. The journey to Tarth is an easy one that only takes a sleep by tug, whereas the road to Bronzegate is full ‘o dangers. I’m sure Harry won’t mind taking you that far. Once you get to Tarth, I hear the Evenstar has some ocean going ships himself; perhaps once you get there, two fancy lordlings like yourselves can persuade Lord Selwyn to lend you one.”

A chill ran through Brienne; she had not been home for many years. In fact, the last time she had seen her father was during her attempt to slip away to join Renly’s Kingsguard. Even once she became Lady of Storm’s End, she had been terrified of how he would react, given that she still had not married or given him a grandchild, so had only written him letters. She had never expected she would have a homecoming like this, in the midst of chasing a kidnapped child with the bedraggled Kingslayer behind her.

 _Jaime,_ she thought desperately. _What do I tell my father about Jaime?_

Even so, there was nothing to be done. If Brienne wanted to find Cora, she would have to throw herself on Lord Selwyn’s mercy. “You hear that, Jaime,” said Brienne gently, “my father will help us. We are going to find Cora.”

*/*/*/*

After being stuffed with broth by the old woman, who they gave hearty thanks and a large sum of money to look after their horses until they returned, Brienne found herself boarding Harry’s tug boat for the voyage to Tarth.

“I don’t want you two getting in my way,” Harry said, “so why don’t you go and sleep down in the hold? It will leave you nice and refreshed for the morning.”

Clearly assuming they were husband and wife, Harry had set up a small pallet piled with blankets next to the barrels of fish. When Jaime saw it, his eyebrows had nearly disappeared into his hair, and he had immediately volunteered to take one of the blankets and sleep over the other side of the deck.

“It’s too late to protect my honour now,” laughed Brienne, taking off her boots before laying down on one side of the makeshift bed. She patted the other side invitingly.

Jaime only stared at her. “But we haven’t shared a bed since…”

“Winterfell, I know,” she said quickly, patting the space beside her once more, hoping he wouldn’t object. Life was too short for regrets.

Although he still looked a little uneasy, Jaime crossed the deck and took his shirt off, folding it haphazardly before placing it on top of one of the barrels of fish. Brienne’s breath hitched in her throat. It had been three years since she had seen Jaime Lannister shirtless, yet she well remembered the feel of his skin beneath her fingers and the familiar criss-cross of his scars, even though there was now a little more grey in his chest hair.

After kicking off his boots, he finally acquiesced to her demands and got into the bed beside her, rolling across so he was facing her, observing her with those inscrutable green eyes of his. She copied him so she became his mirror, her blue eyes meeting his defiantly. Even though they were so close, he did not touch her. Perhaps he still felt unworthy.

Yet, in spite of the mounting worry for Cora, the uncomfortableness of their bed, and the faint smell of fish, there was nothing more Brienne wanted to do than reach out and hold him.

In the darkness below deck, it would be very difficult to resist kissing him.


	36. Jaime XVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written by Meriwyn
> 
> WARNING - The rating for this fic just went up to Mature ;)

For a long time they lay there simply staring at each other, neither one wanting to speak or move for fear of what the other might say or do. Jaime’s heart thundered in his chest so loudly he was certain anyone within twenty feet could hear it. The longer he stared into those sapphire blue eyes that he so loved, the more memories began to resurface. Long, cold winter nights in Winterfell, entangled with Brienne. Passionate, torrid lovemaking, finding parts of her body that made her squeak or sigh or cry out his name when he touched them with his hand or his tongue. Images of her crying and begging him to stay when he so coldly and wrongfully left her that night in the courtyard. He wished he could take it all back.

The longer he stared at her the more the lump in his chest crept towards his throat, threatening to make him come apart. His breathing started to become erratic and he began to tremble. Images of Brienne, Cora, and Cersei playing through his mind like a picture book. Two very different loves and one now-hatred jostling for position in his mind. And Tyrek…oh, Tyrek had better pray to all seven gods and anyone else who will listen once Jaime gets his hands on him.

Brienne must have seen the panic starting to rise in his face and the shaking of his body, because she reached up to stroke his brow with her thumb, attempting to calm him. It didn’t work as tears began to fall from his eyes. He’d been running on pure adrenaline since they realized Cora had been taken and it was all crashing down on him right at this moment. Choking out a sob, he reached for Brienne’s face, practically petting her like he would a dog or a horse. He needed comforting, he needed to be held. He needed her.

As if reading his thoughts, Brienne reached for him and pulled him to her, pushing his head into the curve of her neck and gripping him tightly. She gently stroked his hair as he cried against her, clinging to her and grabbing a fistful of her thin shirt. Brienne held him so tightly and dug her fingers into his shoulder. Jaime responded by inching closer to her and pressing himself up against her, trying to get as close to her as he could.

Brienne gently tugged on his hair, pulling his head up so she could look at him. His face was tear-streaked, his emerald eyes still shiny. As Jaime looked back at her, he realized she was crying too. They both felt so helpless. They stared into each other’s eyes desperately looking for answers, or an escape.

They didn’t know who had kissed who first, but suddenly their mouths had come crashing together in a desperate attempt to console one another. Before they realized what was happening they were clawing at each other, Jaime tugging at Brienne’s shirt, Brienne clumsily fumbling with the laces of Jaime’s pants, kissing each other so hard they could taste blood.

Brienne loosened Jaime’s pants just enough to snake her hand down the front of them, softly gripping him. Jaime groaned into her mouth and slid his hand up her shirt, running his fingers over her breast. Brienne leaned her head back and closed her eyes as Jaime’s lips went to her neck.

He kissed, licked, sucked, and bit at her flesh as she continued to rub him until he was so hard he was aching. His hand dropped to the laces on her breeches and he began tugging them apart. Brienne slid her hands over Jaime’s hips and slid his pants down, digging her nails into the flesh of his backside on the way. He growled against her cheek and ground himself against her thigh, causing her to gasp. He suddenly pulled back to look at her. Her eyelids were heavy with need and her hands went to his face, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs.

“Bree, I…I can stop if…”

Brienne shook her head and pulled him down to press their foreheads together.

“No, Jaime,” she whispered. “No…we both need this.”

He stared at her a few moments more before nodding. He bent his head to kiss her again, tenderly this time as he worked at kicking his pants off the rest of the way. Jaime slid his hand to Brienne’s stomach and began pushing her tunic up. She lifted her arms over her head to give him access and to help him pull it over her head.

Jaime looked down at her, his hand roaming lightly over her chest. Everything was coming back to him now, every curve, every muscle. He leaned down to kiss the scars on her shoulder where the bear had raked her and then moved his way slowly back to her neck.

“Gods, I missed you,” he breathed against her ear. Brienne slid her breeches down and kicked them off. They spent the next several moments reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies. Gentle strokes and kisses until they were both panting and softly groaning with an aching need for each other.

Brienne slid her left thigh underneath Jaime and nudged him over in between her legs, settling him into her hips. His kisses roamed all over her chest, his beard leaving raw red splotches across her skin that thrilled her senses. When his lips found her breasts she arched her back and pressed herself against him, whispering his name and gripping fistfuls of his hair.

Slipping his arms under Brienne’s back so that he could grip her shoulders from underneath, Jaime positioned himself at her opening. Locking eyes with her one more time Jaime silently asked her if this is what she wanted. Brienne nodded and ever so slowly, Jaime slid into her.

They both groaned and Jaime buried his face in her neck as he started to roll his hips. Brienne stroked up and down his back and eventually roamed down to grab his backside in both hands, pushing him deeper into her. Jaime panted heavily against her in between kisses, his body rolling into and over her with each thrust.

Brienne wrapped her legs around him, crushing his hips in her bruising embrace. It only excited Jaime more and spurred him on further. Their coupling became frantic with need and desperation, trying to forget the world and its troubles for a few stolen moments.

“Brienne,” Jaime whimpered, and Brienne could tell by his voice that he was nearing his release. She reached up and took his face in her hands.

“I love you, Jaime, gods help me I can’t fight it.”

Tears formed in Jaime’s eyes again and a few fell onto Brienne’s collarbones.

“I love you…marry me, please, be my wife.”

He thrust his hand between them to rub her where they were joined. Brienne gasped and closed her eyes.

“Look at me,” Jaime growled.

She opened her eyes again and he brought his forehead against hers. He rubbed her harder and she arched her back again.

“Marry me, Brienne…please, I can’t live without you. Marry me and help me raise our daughter and her future brothers and sisters.” His thrusts became desperate.

She exploded right at that moment, screaming his name and clinging to him. Her climax set him off and he fell off the cliff right after her.

He collapsed on top of her, panting heavily, his face against her neck, his breath warm against her skin. Brienne gently stroked his shoulders and his hair, placing soft kisses on his forehead.

“Marry me,” he whispered again.

Brienne wrapped her arms and legs around him, embracing him with her entire body.

“Yes.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brienne and Jaime stood in Lord Selwyn Tarth’s solar, waiting for the Evenstar to attend them. He had been in the middle of a meeting with his advisers when they arrived, so he had a servant put them in his private office until he could join them.

Brienne paced nervously around the room while Jaime took in his surroundings. The room was large, with various weapons and shields on the walls, fanned out in artistic displays. The hearth was absolutely huge and took up almost an entire wall. There were a few portraits around the room as well, and Jaime found his attention kept coming back to one particular one that hung above the fireplace.

Two blonde children, more blonde than he and Cersei had ever been. A boy and a girl, staring wistfully off at something in the distance, with those Tarth family eyes. He wondered if every single Tarth ancestor had possessed those sapphire eyes. He also wondered who these two children had been. They were beautiful but fierce looking. The long waves of their hair looked like they had been captured in a light breeze. The boy looked like he would have grown up to become the perfect knight. Jaime could picture it…the boy’s long white-golden hair flowing out behind him as he rode in a tourney or a joust…women falling all over themselves for just one of his glances in their direction. If the boy had kept those eyes as he grew, he would have been even more glorious than himself in his younger days, or even Arthur Dayne.

The girl looked remarkably like the boy, and Jaime guessed they must be siblings or cousins at least. Her eyes were the same, only softer, but no less piercing. What was interesting to him was the composition of their pose. They were both dressed in blue, which of course accentuated their eyes even more. The boy had a sword at his hip. The girl’s head rested on the boy’s shoulder, her hand on his chest. In turn, the boy’s hand rested on the girl’s wrist where it laid across his heart. They fascinated him. They were almost ethereal.

“Bree?”

Brienne stopped her pacing to look up at him. “Hmm?”

Jaime pointed up at the portrait. “Who are they?”

Brienne smirked at him and said nothing. Jaime looked at her.

“What?” He looked back to the painting. “They’re fascinating to me,” he said dreamily. Brienne walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

 _“They,”_ she said, a knowing smile still on her face, “are me and my brother, Galladon.”

Jaime’s eyes went wide. “That’s _you?!”_

Brienne looked up at the painting and smiled sadly. “Yes, that’s me,” she looked at her brother and tears came to her eyes. Jaime slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him.

“Are you alright, love?”

Brienne nodded, a stray tear escaping down her cheek.

“I loved him so much,” her voice broke.

“What happened to him?” Jaime whispered, gently rubbing her back.

Brienne took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “He drowned when he was nine. I was only four.”

Jaime sighed and leaned his forehead against her temple. “I’m so sorry.”

“I followed him everywhere,” she managed a small laugh. “I wanted to be just like him, and he understood me. Once he reached the age where he could start sitting a horse and holding a sword, they separated us. His days were spent training in the yard and mine were spent learning needlepoint and other things befitting a little lady,” she spat, obviously hating the memory.

Jaime snickered. “I bet that didn’t go over very well,” he kissed her temple.

“There’s my starlight!” A voice boomed into the room, making Jaime and Brienne jump apart. Jaime’s eyes went wide and he took a few steps backwards as Selwyn Tarth, one of the only men in all of Westeros to make Brienne actually look small, entered the room. Brienne ran to him and he swept her up in his arms, actually lifting her off the floor. Jaime took another step back and swallowed hard in his throat. This man was huge.

Selwyn and Brienne embraced, Brienne laughing and kissing her father on his white-bearded cheek. His long, soft white hair matched his beard and to Jaime, he looked like he should be a king. He was broad and barrel-chested and stood a good three to four inches over his daughter. He stood back to look at Brienne, his hands on her arms.

“Let me look at you,” he beamed. “My little girl, a _knight!_ I’m so proud of you, and you look beautiful,” he reached out to take a section of her hair between his fingers. "Your hair is longer again."

Selwyn Tarth had always thought his daughter beautiful, no matter what everyone else said. He kissed her on the forehead. His attention then went to Jaime, who shrunk back under Selwyn’s gaze. This was an intimidating man, the fact made even worse because he was going to be his father-in-law someday.

“And who is your friend, here?”

Brienne smiled and walked to take Jaime’s hand, gently pulling him forward. Jaime tentatively followed her, his eyes never leaving Selwyn, afraid the man was going to pound him into the floor if he knew he had been bedding his daughter and had once broken her heart.

“Father,” Brienne said proudly. “This is Ser Jaime Lannister.”

Selwyn flinched and his thick brows came together. “The Kingslayer?”

Jaime’s shoulders drooped and Brienne thrust her chin out defiantly. “We prefer _Jaime,_ father.”

Selwyn smirked at his daughter. “Oh we do, do we?”

Brienne turned to Jaime and placed her other hand on his arm, still holding his hand.

“He’s a good man, he’s the one who knighted me.”

Selwyn’s eyes softened as he met Jaime’s gaze again. “Really?” He said softly. Jaime nodded fearfully. Selwyn walked forward to grasp forearms with Jaime. “Thank you, it’s wonderful that someone finally saw something in her that I always did.”

Jaime relaxed at that and smiled at Selwyn. “She’s very easy to love…er, admire, my lord.”

Selwyn gave him a knowing smile. “Yes, so I see.”

It had not gone unnoticed by the Evenstar that Brienne touched and treated Jaime in a very familiar way, like there was an intimacy between them. He would have to get Brienne alone later to pry it from her.

“So, what brings you here, Brienne? Not that I don’t love seeing you.”

Brienne and Jaime shared a look and Brienne took a deep breath. She squeezed Jaime’s hand and turned to face her father.

“We need your help…to get our daughter back.”

“Your _WHAT??!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so, the portrait of Brienne and Galladon in Selwyn's solar is actually something I lifted from my own fic "The Sapphire Wench", in which Jaime visits Selwyn on Tarth and becomes entranced with the painting. I thought it would be neat to have a bit of continuity so I brought it into this fic as well. Sort of an easter egg ;)


	37. Selwyn I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by TeaandBanjo

“So, what brings you here, Brienne? Not that I don’t love seeing you.” 

The two young people turned to each other, and shared a glance. 

“We need your help…to get our daughter back.” She kept a possessive hand on the man’s elbow. 

“Your  _ WHAT??!”  _ So many things had happened since Brienne left home. Selwyn wished the girl’s mother were still here. He had obviously missed a few letters.

Brienne blushed. “I mean, Jaime’s small daughter is being taken to Pentos. He has been the only one taking care of her, and the man who took her does not mean well.”

“I see. You wish to right a wrong?” Selwyn smirked for a moment. His daughter was not always the best at expressing herself when her feelings were involved. “How does that make the child yours?”

Ser Jaime cleared his throat. “My daughter Cora has been a guest of the Lady Brienne for some time, and they have grown very fond of each other,” he explained, and smiled as if this were actually an explanation.

The door squeaked open, and one of the footmen came through. “The rooms are ready as you required, Evenstar.”

“Ser Jaime, it appears that my daughter and I have a few years of history to catch up on. Perhaps you might wish to give us some time?”

“Brienne?” the man asked, hand against her shoulder, stepping closer. Lannister was the shorter of the pair, but the touch was protective.

“It’s alright.” She nodded, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. 

Selwyn couldn’t hear the whisper, but their eyes met, and Jaime’s grin was sharp and hungry.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Evenstar.” Lannister bowed to him, as properly as any dancing-master could wish. Then, his fingers trailed from Brienne’s shoulder, down the length of her arm, and lifted her hand for a kiss.

His daughter watched him leave the room.

“Brienne,” said her father, “Do I need to go get my sword and chase this man away from you?”

She sank into the sofa that had been her mother’s favorite. “Father, if that were required, I’d have done it myself, long ago.” 

Selwyn thought on the touches that Ser Jaime and Brienne had exchanged in the few minutes since he saw them standing in front of the painting.

“You know,” he began in a soft voice. “I have always regretted that I was not able to help you find a husband. You wished for a man who could best you with a sword.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she nodded slightly. “I did.”

“Does Ser Jaime Lannister have that skill?” 

“Father!” She blushed, quickly and ferociously. “I… we haven't trained together for several years. I have more reach, and strength, and speed...but he is crafty, and hard to fool. It’s always a surprise.”

“I think the man’s technique must have developed. I remember him as a young man.” Selwyn remembered the proud Ser Jaime, in Kingsguard white -- a young man who was used to winning, always. “What happens when you beat him?”

“He usually laughs and says he won’t go so easy on me next time.” Her smile was fond.

“And when he wins?”

“I dust myself off and ask for a re-match.” That happy smile had not changed.

“My little girl has grown up!” Selwyn sat on the largest chair in the room. “What are your plans?”

Brienne frowned. “I wish we had time for stories. I have thought about you often, and I want to spend weeks here to tell you where I’ve been, what I’ve seen, and hear how you and Tarth have spent the war.”

“I count myself and the Island lucky to be small, insignificant, and far away. I get the impression from the lines on your face that you have found considerably more adventure.”

“There will be more.” She sighed. “Jaime and I are here to find fast passage to Pentos. Once Cora and her father are reunited, there are other things.” 

“There are many ships at the harbor, surely some of them will sail at high tide. Early tomorrow morning.” Selwyn didn’t know which vessels, but a short conversation with the harbor-master would probably find one, maybe two departing for Pentos.

“Father, do you have friends or business contacts who can help us?” Worry creased her forehead. “It is a big city, and we need to find one small girl.”

He leaned forward to put his hand over hers. “Go and see to your man. Yes, it doesn’t take much cleverness to know that he is yours. I’ll go see the harbor-master, and write letters of introduction to a few different people who might assist you.”

  
  


By first light in the morning, Selwyn had managed to sleep a few hours, but there was more to be done. Tide waits for no one, and his daughter and Ser Lannister would leave soon. He could hear Brienne opening boxes and the wardrobe in her childhood bedroom. 

“Ser Jaime,” said Selwyn, observing the younger man’s worried frown. “I found a ship, bound for Pentos.”

“Fast?” His green eyes glint for a moment. There was none of the Lannister pride there, but there was a ferocious determination.

“The fastest. Although she carries a small cargo, and won’t be unloading at the main harbour.”

“Are you implying this vessel is a smuggler?” The man’s half-smile was predatory.

“Are you asking, Lannister?” 

The dirty blond mane shook. “Fast is fine. How far will we be from the city?”

“A half hour’s walk, if I remember correctly.” He shrugged. That was young Selwyn, a long time ago.

“We will make it work.” Ser Jaime nodded, then raised a finger. “Evenstar, I know I’m supposed to ask you first, but Brienne and I are going to get married.”

Selwyn grinned. “I was wondering when the subject was going to come up. The two of you are obviously close. Invite me to the wedding, if you can.”

“We need Cora back. Then we will have time for those plans.” 


	38. Brienne XVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Roccolinde

Brienne had barely slept, and was up well before the sun to make preparations. There were some old items in the wardrobe that would give her and Jaime a second set of clothes, imperfect though they were, and at least the similarity in their size and build did have some advantages. Then she’d sat at a desk by the window to compose a series of messages--a letter to King Bran informing him of the reason for her absence and her recent engagement, a mere formality when she knew he would have seen it all; one to Sansa, telling her that the man who’d written of their betrothal was not who he claimed to be, but she was betrothed and would write with more details soon; and a series of instructions to be sent to Storm’s End, explaining the situation and leaving commands in her absence. She had just finished the last one, her fingers cramping with the hasty writing, when her father arrived with Jaime at his side.

“I’ve found a ship,” her father said. “It’s fast, and I’ve sent a raven ahead so there will be aid waiting for you. I wish there was more I could do, but--”

Brienne stood and crossed the room to embrace him. “Father, this is more than I expected.”

“Starlight, a true parent would do anything to keep their child safe,” he said against her ear, then pulled back and gave her a small and bittersweet smile. “But I don’t think I need to tell you that. I forget, sometimes, that you are a woman grown. But I never forget that I am proud of you.”

She wouldn’t cry. She didn’t have time to cry.

“It leaves with the tide?” she asked, blinking back the tears she didn’t have time for.

Her father nodded, and she swiftly set about with the final preparations. When they left Evenfall Hall, she looked back once, and breathed deeply. The last time she had left had been in the dark, on a quest she’d ultimately failed, and she replaced the tainted memory with the soft glow of the white marble in the earliest morning light. Sunrise was painting the sky in shades of pink when they arrived at the docks, though thankfully pale pinks and not the threatening reds that foretold bad weather.

Selwyn introduced them both to the captain, and when Jaime went ahead to board the ship, he hugged Brienne again.

“Be safe,” he instructed, then sighed and looked over her shoulder towards the ship. “Are you certain this is what you want? It’s not hard to see that he loves you, but the things he was said to do… I have concerns. Do you even know who Cora’s mother is?”

“I am, and I do,” Brienne said. “And **I** am the only mother she has ever known, the only one she will ever know. Who gave her life is irrelevant.”

The Evenstar nodded.

“Then travel with haste and bring my granddaughter home,” he said, hugging her once more and then stepping back. “I should like to meet her.”

/*/*/

Having settled their things below decks, Brienne wandered above and found Jaime standing at the bow of the ship, eyes in the direction of Pentos, as if he could get there faster simply by willing it so. She moved to stand beside him, her hand slipping into his.

“Your father wasn’t what I expected,” he said, gaze still on the water.

“What did you expect?”

“Less forgiveness,” he said. “Possibly a sword at the throat.”

Brienne laughed softly.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect myself,” she admitted. “He was… not happy when I left to fight for Renly.”

“You haven’t seen him since?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to face him. The disappointment of others I did not mind, but not his.”

Jaime shook his head but said nothing, merely tugged her hand so she came closer. Shoulder to shoulder, eyes forward. The initial panic of Cora’s disappearance had abated somewhat, somehow, leaving a strange and desperate yearning in them both. After a few moments, he turned just enough to look at her and smiled.

“You know, I have it on good authority that the cargo of this ship is… illicit,” he said. “I never would have thought your family would go in with smugglers.”

Brienne laughed. “Davos is still on the Small Council, smugglers are practically heroes nowadays.”

He released her hand so he could raise his to cup her chin, his thumb stroking over her cheek, and leaned in to kiss her softly.

“There’s only one hero I see,” he said, then gave a ragged breath against her lips. “Gods, Brienne, I don’t… I don’t know what I would be doing without you right now.”

“You’d have found a way,” she replied with certainty. “But you aren’t alone anymore, not ever.”

He kissed her again, and it was unlike anything else in the world. She’d been a fool to imagine she could have married for duty.

“I did not sleep well last night,” she said gently. “And from the noises that came from your rooms, neither did you. We should try to rest. The captain is more than competent.”

Jaime agreed, and then went below; bodies touching, chaste though it was, they allowed exhaustion to claim them both. They roused late afternoon and arrived back on deck near sunset, eyes turned towards Pentos once more.

“Jaime,” Brienne said, trying to keep her voice from shaking as she looked at the ship that had just pulled into sight; sleek, with red sails. It didn’t mean Cora was there, she reminded herself; it could be the wrong ship, the wrong sails. She could have been dropped elsewhere already. Still… Brienne squeezed his hand hard, hope welling in her. “Jaime, look.”

He turned, his body stilling as he saw it.

“Rego Draz,” he breathed.


	39. Brienne XVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by SeeThemFlying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: A little violence and a little bad language (basically, all the good stuff)

Brienne had thought the best course of action would have been to make an extensive plan, or to find some of her father’s contacts in the city, or to at the very least scout out the area. However, Jaime had very different ideas. Consequently, a few minutes after they first sighted the ship with the red sails, she found herself fighting her way through Rego Draz’s crew – parrying, slashing, blocking – in order to get to the captain’s quarters. Jaime was beside her, almost the fighter he once was due to the sadness in his eyes from the previous few days having been replaced by an endless, unending rage.

Both their swords were red with blood when they found the cabin. “Jaime,” she breathed, “slow down. We do not know who will be in there.”

“Draz, Cersei, Tyrek, who cares? I will kill them all if it means I can save Cora.”

The look in his eye told her he meant it.

To her immense relief (and disappointment), the only person inside the cabin was the man she assumed was Rego Draz himself, drinking a glass of red wine. Although he was a little surprised by the sight of two warriors with blood stained swords, he adopted a conciliatory tone, clearly valuing his head.

“Ah,” he said as the two of them entered. “Ser Jaime. Have you come here to deliver the gold your sister promised me?”

“What gold?” spat Jaime venomously. “The gold for Cora? Has she sold my daughter to you? Do you have such little conscience you would sell a child?”

Rego shook his head. “Oh no. I only provided the ship. I find it useful to play both sides. Cersei gives me gold for ships and betrothals, your brother the Imp for information. I don’t care where my gold comes from, I just care that I get it.”

Brienne tried to swallow down a bitter distaste for this man, as he smiled genially at them both. This was some trick she was sure. “Where is Cora, then?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level.

“Put down your weapons and I’ll tell you.” Jaime shot a concerned look at Brienne, but in a moment, he had settled Widow’s Wail into his scabbard, and Brienne copied. Once he saw that they had done so, Rego continued. “Her and that cousin of yours have a plan to meet some contacts of mine from Braavos to hand the girl over. I do not know when or where, but I would guess somewhere not far from that manse the two of you share.”

“I don’t _share…_ ” interrupted Jaime, but Brienne put a hand on his shoulder to silence him.

“Well, either way, you know the one I mean,” said Rego. His mouth quirked in a smile. “Tick tock, I imagine it is sometime soon.” At that, he got up from his chair, walked round the table, and signalled to the door. “Now, if you would please, it would seem you have left me no choice but to hire some new crewmen.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes, but seeing little alternative, he turned his back on Rego and made to go. Brienne shot a last look at the unscrupulous merchant, before looking away and putting her hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “Do you know the way from here?”

“I…”

She did not have time to hear the end of his sentence, however, as out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow flicker on the wall. Rego Draz had drawn a dagger from his belt and was taking steps towards Jaime, raising it higher and higher…

It was over in a flash. Pod’s sword was in her hand. A thrust. Rego’s eyes went wide. His mouth opened in shock. The dagger clattered to the ground. She drew the sword from his belly. He fell to the ground. Jaime turned and realised what happened.

“Cersei… promised me gold…” Rego hissed, even as blood welled in his mouth.

Brienne looked at the dying man coldly. “And I promise her our justice.”

*/*/*/*

By the time Jaime led Brienne to the little manse he and Cersei had shared during their exile, the Pentos city guard were on the watch for an armed murderer and a companion who had slain one of the most prosperous merchants in the city and half his crew. Luckily, there was no moon in the sky that night, so Jaime and Brienne were able to keep to the shadows.

“Here,” said Jaime quietly, pointing to the stout two story house on a disinteresting, non-descript side street. “This was where we lived… whether Cersei is still here, I do not know.”

Brienne looked at the little house and felt a pit of dread in her stomach. It was here that Jaime and Cora had been trapped like flies in Cersei’s web, here she had caught him in a domesticity that he had felt obliged to enact, here she had pulled him back into being the other half of her whole, to fill the aching, clawing emptiness she had inside. It was a dark place, and Brienne wanted no part of it. There was also some small part of Brienne’s bruised heart that did not trust what Jaime had told her, even though she loved him endlessly. Had there been some weak moment when he had crawled back into his sister’s bed? His sister was a famous beauty after all and what man could resist a warm, compliant, attractive body in a moment of darkness?

Yet it was not Jaime’s past that scared her, but the future. Now, they would be confronted with the truth of Cersei Lannister – his sister, his lover, his doom – and he would have to make a choice. If he was provoked by the image of Cersei holding his child that she birthed, would he go back to her? Would he…?

Her worrying was allayed when she felt his hand on her wrist. “This way,” he said, “there is a way in through the cellar window.”

Brienne followed him without question as he slipped through the narrow window, taking her hand and helping her through in turn. Jaime then led her up the stairs to the main hallway, and at that he raised Widow’s Wail, the candlelight casting his shadow starkly against the wall. Pricking her ears, she heard a voice coming from a nearby room. Although she had only met Cersei a handful of times, Brienne would recognise her rival’s tone anywhere.

“We are all that matters,” she purred. “You and me, the last Lannisters who count. My father is dead. Uncle Kevan a traitor. Tyrion has and always will be a poisonous little demon. Jaime is…”

Jaime’s breath hitched slightly, leading Brienne to reach out for him, desperate to keep him with her; physically, emotionally, mentally. Yet they never heard what exactly Jaime was as there was a soft, wet sound. A kiss.

“Varys took me away when I was just a boy,” a voice replied. It was Byron, Tyrek, whoever he was. His tone was angry, vengeful; a contrast to Cersei’s soft coaxing. “He wanted me to be a willing, compliant little Lannister, so when Daenerys Targaryen stormed Westeros they could have a lion as a puppet. But I am no puppet. I am a Lion of Casterly Rock just as much as you. _I am not a toy._ I have my own will, and I choose you and our family. I am a lion. I am a Lannister.”

“I know, sweetling,” replied Cersei. “And the whole world will know it when we take back what is ours. You will be my husband as we throw my brother and the Stark boy down, as we break that bitch in the North and return her sorry little snow pile to the Seven Kingdoms. Our lion cubs will roar forever, because you will give me children – _Lannister children_ – and we will make them kings and queens forever…” What she was saying was utter madness, but Jaime seemed transfixed by it. Brienne wanted to reach out and shake him, because he was wearing an expression similar to the one he had adopted when he left her crying in the snow. It did not change when Byron spoke again.

“Sansa Stark thinks she’s _so_ clever. You know it was _her_ that sent me south? She wanted me to be a distraction for that great beast they call the lady of Storm’s End.” Brienne needed time to deal with that particular revelation, but she was not afforded it, as Byron continued. “Although she did not say, I think Sansa did not approve of the letters exchanged between her and your brother, though she forbade me from marrying the great heifer. Yet what is a young penniless hedge knight to do when such a rich prize arises? But my plan was ruined by the Kingslayer. I don’t know what he sees in that great cow, but he acts like a cunt-struck idiot every time he gets too close to her.”

Brienne turned to Jaime to whisper to him that diplomacy may be the best course of action, only to find he was already halfway up the hallway, Widow’s Wail held high. With one sharp kick, he blasted the door of the solar open, and all Brienne could do was bundle in behind him, drawing her own sword, desperate to ameliorate the worst of his impulsiveness.

Before Brienne could say a word, Jaime had fixed his eyes on his sister, who was pressed against Byron’s chest, Oathkeeper hanging from his belt. Jaime’s voice was quiet, but venomous. “Where is Cora?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, we are currently in the process of uploading a parallel fic to this one, mostly focussed on Tyrion and Sansa and their various machinations! Please find the link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20315749/chapters/48165706


	40. Hanne I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m posting this out of turn. (Thanks for letting me cut in front of you, Meriwyn!) No plot happens here, just tying up a loose end or two. So, consider this an intermission, and our scheduled program will return shortly.

The darkness faded, and Hanne realized that she was flat on her back. There were no dreams there. 

Just darkness?

Memories? 

Oh. The smell of horses had filled the shadows in the stables. She had her arm locked around that stupid pretty boy’s throat. 

Hanne couldn’t move. There was light through her closed eyelids, but there was a terrible sense of weight. She kept her eyes closed, and listened. Someone was moving in the room -- light footsteps on wood planks.

Stupid pretty boy had Ser Brienne’s sword tied to his saddlebags. He was approaching the horse, with something in his hand. She’d pulled him off balance, and done her best to keep air from reaching his lungs. Then…

“You’re awake!” 

Hanne opened her eyes. Verra was looking back at her. There were wooden beams and a white ceiling above.

“What happened?” Her own voice was scratchy, and her breath was short. “I can’t move.”

“You are under a lot of furs.” The girl put a smooth hand on Hanne’s forehead. “You were so cold when they brought you up here.” She lifted a fur and dragged it to one side.

“I’m still at the inn?” Hanne felt lighter, and dizzy when she attempted to move.

“I’ve got water here. Let me help you sit up.”

Sitting up made the room spin, but small sips of water helped. The girl held the cup for her. Wasn’t Verra supposed to be taking care of Cora?

“The others will want to know you are awake,” said Verra. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“What happened?” she managed to ask, as the door shut. Her weight was pressing her against the pillows, against the bed. It was easier to breathe, but the air in the room was cold.

She pulled on a thread of the memory. She was choking the stupid theiving pretty boy...he did something... she could feel her skin go numb with cold, creeping up her arm like a lake freezing from the edge. Ice up past her shoulder, then it crawled along her spine and…

There were Verra’s steps, and heavier boots on the stairs. The door flew open.

“Hanne!” said Alex, as he crossed the room. “Are you ready to get up and spar? I missed you.” He sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

“Fuck.” Her voice was like dry grass rustling in the breeze. “No.” She managed to get her hand out from under the blanket, and put her fingers around his wrist. She tried to squeeze.

“You haven’t moved for days, Hanne.” His forehead creased like the stone cliffs, as her strength faded and her hand dropped away. “Verra, I can stay if you need to go do things.”

The girl took the hint, and her footsteps faded down the stairs.

“What did that bastard do to me?” she croaked. Alex wouldn’t lie to her.

“Ser Byron had a piece of magic that was supposed to disable a horse. He used it on you, then rode away with Cora Lefford.” He put a hand against her shoulder. “Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne rode after him. One of the stable hands found you in an empty stall, just about first light. Poor kid thought you were dead.”

“Are you sure I’m not?” She admitted to herself that she wasn’t in any pain, but being too weak to move from under a pile of furs was not good in her line of work. “Is Tyrion going to throw me out on my arse for that cock-up?”

Alex’s weird grin, the one with all the teeth, lit up his face. “The boss is trying to figure out what to do with you if you don’t make a full recovery. He’s been muttering something about keeping accounts, or tidying his wine cellars.”

“I’d better hurry up and get back on my feet, then. Or my job will be making sure that his Tuesday whore and his Thursday whore never meet.” Anger heated her blood, but now she could feel her hands shaking.

“Take it easy, Hanne. That thing wasn’t supposed to kill the horse, but no one could figure out what it would do to a person, or how long it would take to wear off.”

“Crap.” If Alex is here, than so is the boss… “Where is Lord Tyrion?”

“He was here yesterday, but now he’s dealing with some sort of secret shit that turned up at Bronzegate. He and a bunch of Bentwood’s lads.” The young man shrugged. “So, he told me to keep you out of trouble.”

Hanne tried to shift the remaining fur blanket, and failed. “I know you love a challenge.”

Alex gently punched her shoulder. “I win this round. Rematch tomorrow."

“Fuck you.” She felt hollow. She was weak, and tired, and maybe half-dead. “Just let me die in peace, alright?”

“I need to send a letter to our small Lord. He’ll want to know that you woke up, and seem to have your wits about you.” He squeezed her wrist. “As much as you usually do, anyway.”

“Alex, did I ever tell you that you are like a brother? The annoying little brother I never had?” Her voice had gotten stronger, with just the few words since she woke up. That was good.

“Only every time I knock your arse in the dirt.”

There were footsteps on the stairs again, and Verra appeared at the door carrying a bowl.

“I’ll kick  _ your _ arse later,” she told him. “It will be practice for what I do to Byron if the Lady Brienne leaves any pieces.”

“I know you will.” Alex showed her his rare calm smile, and stood up to his considerable height.

“Shoo!” said Verra. She tipped her head up to glower at the young man. “If Hanne is going to get better, she needs food, and rest.”

Alex allowed himself to be shooed, and Hanne allowed herself to spoon-fed, assisted with the chamber pot, and tucked back under heavy furs.

She could not fight sleep. Sleep came in like a winter storm, but at least it was warm.

  
  


Hanne woke up to a soft, wet sound. The room was still bright. Mid-afternoon? She uncurled herself, and slowly pushed back the blankets. The wet, snuffling sound happened again. 

Verra had pulled a chair next to the window, and was weeping. She lifted her sleeve to wipe her eyes, and her other hand held a thin book.

“Are you alright?” Hanne rose on one elbow. 

The girl wiped her eyes again. “It’s nothing.”

Hanne glared from the bed. Some other time, she would carefully ask questions. Some other time, if she were in a hurry, she would grab the girl by the front of her tunic and yell. “Is it? Is it nothing?” This time, it was taking all her strength to climb up and lean on the pile of pillows, so she held her tongue.

Verra broke the silence. “Lord Tyrion told me I needed to learn to read, and gave me some books. I can’t figure it out! I’m too stupid.”

“What kind of books?” Hanne tried to imagine what Tyrion would pick. Poetry? Bawdy stories?

“There are pictures.” The girl bent forward, and blew her nose on the hem of her petticoat.

“Children’s books?” Well, that makes some sort of sense. The Lord wasn’t a total idiot. “Did anyone ever read to you when you were small?”

She shook her head, and squeezed her eyes shut with the effort not to cry again.

“May I see your books?” Hanne wasn’t going anywhere. 

There was a bit of an interruption while Verra brought up bread, some cheese, and a small sour fruit that must grow around here, but not at Kings Landing. (The girl showed her how to separate the peel, which was as thick as leather, from the sections of the fruit.)

Hanne tried to explain books, in between bites of food. She ended up telling the girl about how her aunt would read to her from a book of stories about the Seven. Soon, her plate was empty, and Verra seemed to have forgotten her weeping.

Verra took the plate away, and returned as Hanne settled herself against the pillows.

“Verra,” she asked, patting the bed next to her. “Would you like to hear the story?”

The girl frowned, curling her lip.

“You need to be able to see the book, so come sit next to me. In fact, I’m getting tired so you should probably hold the book also.” 

She sat, uneasily. Hanne put the open book in her hands. “What do you see in the picture?”

“It’s a dragon. He’s green.”

“Sam was a small green dragon,” Hanne read, pointing at each word. “Turn the page for me?”

The girl’s face lit up at the next picture. “He isn’t very big. Look, that farmer is bigger than Sam!”

“Sam tried to attack the village,” Hanne continued. “The people laughed.”

She continued to read the misadventures of poor Sam, who tried several other ways to get food, and the pictures of Sam looked increasingly droopy and sad.

“Look, someone is painting a picture!” said Vera. This page showed the artist with paint, brushes, and a huge canvas with a knight near the right edge. Hanne thought the artist looked droopy and sad.

_ Ami the artist said “I need to paint a picture of the Lord slaying a dragon.” _

_ “You are good,” said Sam. “Look at those clouds and trees, and the Lord’s shiny armor.” _

_ “I don’t know how to paint a dragon,” said Ami. “I can’t finish the painting.” _

_ “That is sad. Can I help?” asked Sam. _

_ So, Ami painted a picture of Sam in the empty part of the canvas. _

Hanne yawned. “What do you think will happen next?”

“Well,” said Verra. “The painting would be done. Maybe the artist gets paid?”

“Turn the page and let’s see!” She could stay awake to find out, really.

The final page showed the painting hung up in a great hall, between colorful banners. There was a table with three chairs, and the Lord, the artist, and Sam the dragon were all holding spoons and looking at the enormous pie in the middle of the table.

_ Small Sam looked huge, and fierce, and the Lord hung the painting in the best spot in his great hall. _

_ Ami painted more pictures of dragons. He painted angry dragons. He painted sleeping dragons. He painted happy dragons. He painted pictures of dragons playing cards. Every one of those dragons was Sam, even if they weren’t pictures of small dragons, or green dragons. _

_ Ami became famous for painting pictures of dragons.  _

_ Ami made sure that Sam was never hungry again. _

  
  
  



	41. Brienne XVIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written by Meriwyn
> 
> A hundred thousand apologies that this took so long! I struggled a bit with it but I wanted to make sure it was up to my standards before I posted it. Time to get Cora back!

The tension hung in the air like thick smoke, Jaime’s question to his dumbstruck sister still lingering between them. Brienne was still lingering in the shadows in the doorway, waiting to see what would unfold. Cersei seemed frozen and didn’t move from her position against Tyrek. Jaime didn’t take his eyes from her.

“I’m not going to ask again, sister.”

When Cersei remained still, Brienne slowly entered the room and stood behind Jaime, only her eyes went directly to Tyrek, who stiffened and actually had the decency to look afraid of her. Brienne’s presence put Cersei on edge, however. She looked at Jaime and snorted.

“How typical of you to bring your _beast_ to fight your battles, brother,” she spat, giving Brienne a loathsome sneer. Brienne spoke without taking her eyes off Tyrek.

“Believe me, my _lady,”_ she said quietly, spitting Cersei’s title like it was poison. “You do not want to fight me. Besides, you insisted he court and marry me.”

Cersei narrowed her eyes in disgust. “What are you going on about?”

“Meet the Lady of Storm’s End,” Brienne said, raising the corner of her mouth in a smirk. Cersei’s lips parted in surprise as she tried to hold her expression neutral.

Brienne walked slowly towards Tyrek, and Cersei finally moved away from him. “On the other hand…Byron…my _beloved,_ my _betrothed,”_ her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “You have something that belongs to me,” she eyed _Oathkeeper_ at his hip.

Jaime was still focused on his sister. He reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her to him and forcing her to face him.

“Where. Is. She…” Jaime’s voice was quiet and menacing. Cersei looked back over to where Brienne was slowly advancing on Tyrek, a tinge of fear in her green eyes now. Jaime grabbed her chin and forced her gaze back to him.

“Don’t look at them, you’re going to deal with me,” he growled.

Brienne leaned slowly over Tyrek, forcing him to lower himself down onto the table she had pinned him against. Pressing her full weight on his chest, she began to undo the belt that held _Oathkeeper_ around his waist. Tyrek could do nothing but stare at her as Brienne brought her face inches from his, never breaking his gaze. Before he knew it, she had _Oathkeeper_ fastened around her own waist, back where it belonged. Brienne closed her eyes as she gripped the hilt, like a part of her that had been missing was suddenly returned to her. Once she and Jaime marry, the other part of her that had been long missing would also be restored, and she would be whole once again.

Brienne then grabbed Tyrek by his collar and yanked him to his feet, whipping him around so his back was to her chest. Pulling _Oathkeeper_ from its sheath, she wrenched Tyrek’s arm behind his back and held him tight against her body, pressing the sword’s point to his throat. She looked to Jaime and Cersei, who had twin looks of shock on their faces. Brienne had to stifle a laugh as for the first time in her eyes, they looked exactly alike.

“Continue,” she said quietly to Jaime. Cersei looked to Tyrek, who remained still lest he end up with _Oathkeeper_ through his neck or a dislocated shoulder. She narrowed her eyes in disgust.

“You stole Jaime from me,” Cersei seethed at Brienne.

“ _I_ stole me from you,” Jaime growled, gripping Cersei’s arm tighter. “Now, if you don’t tell me where my daughter is…”

 _“Our_ daughter,” Cersei sneered, “is already with her new family.” She turned her eyes back to her brother. “You’re too late.”

Jaime’s nostrils flared and his jaw clenched, and Brienne could see he was losing both his patience and control. He startled Cersei by pushing her against the wall, his hand wrapped around her throat. He brought his face inches from hers.

“Where?” Jaime snarled in her face. Cersei began to gasp, wrapping her hands around his wrist, trying to wrench herself from his grasp. For the first time since Brienne and Jaime had entered the room, Cersei looked afraid.

“Jaime,” she gasped, “Please.”

Tyrek began to struggle in Brienne’s arms, but she wrenched his arm tighter against his back and he settled.

“Don’t,” she said in his ear.

“Tell me, Cersei, or I swear to the Seven I will end you right here and now,” Jaime said, his voice low.

Cersei was taking gasping breaths, trying to pry Jaime’s fingers from around her throat.

“She’s…with…Terys…family,” she choked out. “Their…ship…leaves…tonight…might be…gone…already.”

Jaime released her and Cersei fell to the floor, gasping and coughing, her hand at her throat. Jaime turned to Brienne.

“We don’t have much time.”

Brienne nodded and yanked Tyrek towards the door, dragging him with her, following after Jaime as he bolted out of the room.

“Come my sweet, you’re going to help us find Cora.”

Tyrek had no choice but to accompany them. He risked a look back at Cersei, his eyes begging her to help him, but she was still on the floor on her knees, trying to regain her breathing. By the time she looked up, they were gone.

Brienne dragged Tyrek through the streets towards the docks, trying to keep up with Jaime as he ran ahead of them. Upon reaching the docks, Jaime began pushing his way through people, making his way to the harbormaster’s office. Even at this late hour, the docks were still alive with activity.

Brienne remained outside, scouring the docks with her eyes, looking for something to further restrain Tyrek. Finding a coil of rope, after Tyrek tried to break free and brawl with her on the dock, much to the amazement of passersby, Brienne once again subdued him and tied his hands behind his back.

“Still want to marry me?” She asked him with a smirk. Tyrek said nothing.

Jaime came bolting out of the harbormaster’s office and began walking quickly down the length of the docks, scanning the different ships. He kept looking back over his shoulder to make sure Brienne was with him. Pushing Tyrek along in front of her, she came to stand next to Jaime.

“Are you alright, love?” He asked her, stopping for a moment in an attempt to calm himself and make sure Brienne was handling Tyrek without too much issue.

“This isn’t my first time dragging a Lannister around as a prisoner,” she smiled at him. Jaime caught her meaning and grinned back at her.

“Maybe once this is all over, we can do it again,” he winked at her. He went back to looking at the ships in the port. He took Brienne’s elbow in his hand as she tightened her hold on Tyrek’s bonds, pushing him along.

“Which ship is it?” Brienne demanded of Tyrek.

“I don’t know,” he scowled. Brienne grabbed a handful of his blonde locks and pulled his head back. He yelped and glared at her. “I swear I don’t know!”

“The harbormaster said they were in slip number twelve,” Jaime said as he counted down the ships docked, pointing his finger at each one as he did so. Finally he stopped at a ship approximately five away from where they stood. “There, that’s it.”

They moved along down the docks until at last they stood in front of the Terys’ ship. Jaime ran up the gangplank, Brienne and Tyrek followed.

“Where is Lord Terys?” Jaime all but screamed once he was safely up on deck of the ship. Crew members stopped to look at him, wondering who the hell he was. Their expressions became even more aghast when Brienne and the bound Tyrek appeared behind him. One of the crew members ran for the quarters at the back of the ship.

Looking around the deck, Brienne spotted a barrel nearby and moved to sit Tyrek down on it. Keeping a hand on his shoulder, she made sure he stayed put. The crew members were eyeing her with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

Moments later a man came out of the aft quarters of the ship, followed by the crew member who had vanished there just before.

“What’s going on?” The man said. “Are you well, my lord?” He looked to Jaime.

“Are you Lord Terys?” Jaime asked.

“I am,” he nodded, the thick black curls of his hair framing his face. “I am Irrio Terys, is there a problem?”

“I am Ser Jaime Lannister…you may know me as Jaime Lefford. I know you struck a deal with one of my family members for my daughter’s bride price,” he was careful to leave out the word _sister._ “Please my lord, I must apologize to you and your family, but Cersei was mistaken, Cora is not for sale nor was she to be given away.”

Jaime looked desperate. Irrio’s dark brown eyes went to Brienne and Tyrek before looking back at Jaime.

“We were just about to leave port, you’re lucky you found us.”

“Please, is she here? Is she alright?” Jaime said, his voice rising with panic.

“Whatever you paid to Cersei, I will pay you double,” Brienne suddenly said. Irrio looked at her.

“And you are?”

“Lady Ser Brienne of Tarth, Lady of Storm’s End and Warden of the East of Westeros, across the Narrow Sea.”

That seemed to impress the man. “And you,” he pointed at Tyrek. “You were with the woman.”

Tyrek simply nodded. “Yes, my lord,” he said quietly.

“We can prove who we are,” Brienne said, reaching into her belt pouch and pulling out Cora’s doll. “This is hers.”

Irrio turned to the crew member next to him and nodded once. The servant once again went into the aft quarters of the ship.

“Please, my lord,” Jaime continued. “She was wrongfully taken from us, we will compensate you for the loss, I swear to you.”

“I am sorry for what appears to be a grave error,” Irrio said. “I would never want to be accused of causing trauma to a child. I have four sons of my own and I know my wife and I would be devastated if something were to happen to any of them.”

The door to the captain’s quarters opened again and the same crew member emerged once more, this time holding Cora in his arms. Jaime and Brienne both let out twin sobs and Jaime dropped to his knees as the crew member put Cora down. She ran straight to him.

“Papa! Papa!” Cora flung herself into Jaime’s arms as he hugged her tightly to him, tears falling down his cheeks. He got to his feet and brought her over to Brienne.

“Look, Brienne is here too,” he said.

Cora burst into a smile so bright it knocked the wind from Brienne’s lungs. Cora reached for her and patted her face like she always liked to do. “Brienne! Brienne I missed you! Don’t cry, don’t be sad, I don’t like it when you’re sad.”

Brienne laughed through her tears. “I’m not sad, my little love, I’m just so happy to see you, are you alright? What happened to your hair?” She said, running her fingers through the girl’s blonde locks.

Cora scowled and pointed at Tyrek. “He did it. He said I had to look like a boy. I don’t want to be a boy I want to be like you,” she hugged Brienne around the neck while Jaime still held onto the bottom half of her. He smiled at Cora’s words.

“Look, I have something for you,” Brienne said, handing Cora her doll. Cora’s face lit up and she gasped.

“My doll! You found my doll!” She hugged it to her chest. “You’re the best mumma in the whole world,” she said, once again reaching for Brienne. Jaime put his forehead against Brienne’s and nuzzled her with his nose.

Irrio was looking over their shoulders at the docks. Groups of the city guard had arrived and were starting to walk up and down looking at the ships.

“That’s strange,” he said. Jaime looked at him.

“What?”

“City guard patrols just showed up and appear to be looking for something…or someone.”

Jaime’s eyes widened in panic and he looked back at Brienne. “That’s probably for us, Cersei probably sent them.”

Irrio nodded and looked at the three of them. “Quickly, come with me, we must hide you.”


	42. Jaime XVIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by Roccolinde

“That’s strange,” Irrio said, and Jaime’s grip on Cora tightened instinctively.

”What?”

The man gestured towards the docks.

“City guard patrols just showed up and appear to be looking for something…or someone.”

_Cersei_. He looked to Brienne, who was still cradling Cora’s upper half.

“That’s probably for us,” he said. “Cersei probably sent them.”

“Quickly, come with me, we must hide you,” Irrio said, and while Jaime appreciated the offer he could see from Brienne’s clenched jaw that they would do no such thing. Or she wouldn’t, at least, and Jaime wasn’t going to leave her behind.

“Cora, love,” Brienne said, gently extracting herself from the girl’s firm grip, “I have to go talk to some men, then we’ll be on our way home. I think your sweet little pony is missing you. But I need you to stay here with Papa and Lord Terys while I do, alright?”

Cora nodded solemnly,shifting her weight back into Jaime’s arms.

“Brienne,” Jaime said, a little hopelessly.

She looked at him, her searching gaze missing nothing, the deep understanding that made them fight so well together uncovering all sorts of inconvenient truths. But she sighed, and nodded in acquiesce.

“Lord Terys, if you--”

“As I said, we have four sons. I will keep Cora safe.”

“Thank you.”

And with that they both kissed Cora on the cheek and held her close, drawing a strange sort of strength from the girl’s unwavering love. They would not fail her, not ever. With a final reminder to behave while they were gone, they left their daughter with Irrio and descended the ship just as the City Guards approached. Brienne took a step ahead, as if to shield his body with her own, and giving him the perfect position to witness the single most magnificent sight he’d ever beheld.

“Brienne of Tarth?” they asked.

“Ser Brienne,” she corrected. “Lady of Storm’s End and Warden of the East of Westeros.”

The men seem surprised by this, but quickly regained their composure.

“We have been informed--”

“Allow me to guess,” Brienne said. “I have been accused of kidnapping a girl of three, though the child’s father is with me and the accuser has no claim to her.”

“She says she is the child’s mother.”

“No,” Brienne said, her voice level and implacable. “She is not. And even if she was, she sold the child and passed her care to a man quite happy to return her to her father.”

“LIES! SHE’S MINE!”

Jaime had been so engrossed by Brienne’s calm command, he’d failed to spy Cersei’s arrival. His sister looked dishevelled and half-mad, her hair in disarray and bruises on her throat. He felt some small stab of guilt over the last, though he’d do it again in an instant if it meant protecting those he loved. Cersei had long been outside of that small circle. She lunged at Brienne, who caught Cersei’s clawed hand with one of her own, her expression still unruffled.

“If there a single person in all of Pentos who knows you as Cora’s mother, please produce them,” she said.

Cersei began to cry, huge and earnest tears that Jaime saw straight through.

“I cannot,” she sobbed. “For my brother, cruel man that he is, made me deny it from the moment we arrived! I could only stay as close as I dared, wipe her tears and love her in secret. Everything I did was for her.”

It was a convincing act, but Brienne stifled a snort and refused to release Cersei’s hand.

“If you cared for her at all, you would leave her be,” Brienne said.

“She’s _MINE_!” Cersei shouted. “She belongs to me, I demand you return her. I am the rightful--”

“I would be quiet, _Lady Lefford_ ,” Brienne interrupted. “You forget your situation.”

Realising that she would get nowhere against Brienne, and giving Jaime a repulsed glance that he felt should have had more impact than it did, she turned her attentions to the City Guards.

“Please,” Cersei begged, trembling her lower lip just so. “She is my only living child, I need her back.”

And there was just enough charm left in the woman, because the City Guards gave Brienne and Jaime an apologetic look and Jaime’s heart sank.

“We cannot let you leave with the child until this is resolved,” said one. “We will bring it to the magistrate. If you have any evidence to support your claim--”

“Will this do?”

Jaime spun around to see a familiar face approaching them, though it took a moment to place it. Master Bentbrook, the king’s Master of Whispers. He held a sealed scroll, which he handed over to the City Guard, and then nodded briefly to Jaime and Brienne, who had released Cersei’s hand at the arrival.

“Ser Jaime, Lady Ser Brienne, I do apologise for my delay. Our King did say I would have time to break bread before I was needed, but it seems you were even faster than he had foreseen.”

“We had incentive,” Jaime said dryly, then turned his attention back to the City Guards reading the scroll. Their brows were furrowed, and Jaime found himself stepping forward to take Brienne’s hand. It would be well, it had to be well. Even if he had to take Cora and run, if they had to fight…

“ _The child known as Cora Lefford is a ward of the Lady of Storm’s End_ ,” read one of the guards aloud. “ _To fail to return her to appropriate care will be taken as an act of war against all seven kingdoms of Westeros, and immediate action will be taken_ … and then something about being grateful to leave the Kingsguard? That’s not--”

Brienne had raised her free hand to her mouth and her shoulders were shaking, and Jaime wasn’t entirely certain whether she was crying or laughing. She must have sensed his concern though, because she turned to give him a small smile.

“I will kill him myself, when next I see him,” she said, quietly enough it was only for his ears. “His penchant for drama rivals your sister’s, and he’s far better informed.”

But there was such a sincere fondness in her words, and Jaime found himself smiling too. A smile that only widened when his sister shrieked and snatched the scroll from the guard’s hands.

“ _I look forward to seeing what comes after_?” she spat as she read. “Nonsense! There is no way this is real.”

Master Bentbrook stepped forward and began to speak to the guards with details, but Jaime’s attention was too focused on Brienne, the tension and control of the last few minutes falling away to reveal her relief.

“You’re right, he’s far too dramatic,” Jaime said, raising the hand he still held in his to press a kiss against her knuckles. “But there are some things to thank him for.”

/*/*/

“That was the bravest thing I ever seed,” Cora declared solemnly when they reboarded Irrio’s ship, and promptly launched herself across the deck to embrace them both. She continued the praise as they paid Irrio, disembarked, sought an inn for the night, and made arrangements to return to Westeros--a brief stop in Tarth, and then to Storm’s End--in the morning. Her evening meal was punctuated with wide-eyed retellings of how Brienne and Papa had fought Aunt Cersei, complete with the wielding of a wooden spoon in lieu of a sword, the story growing with each retelling. As Jaime carried her to their room, her weight sweet and reassuring in his arms, and tucked her into bed, she told the story a final time, yawning as she concluded, “The very bravest.”

Even after she had fallen asleep, he sat on the edge of the bed and watched her, unable to look away just yet. He heard Brienne enter, the near silent opening and closing of the door and then her gentle footsteps, and reached blindly behind him to take the hand he knew would be there. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head and said nothing, both of them content just to be.

* * *


	43. Lady Ermesande I

“Mother!” exclaimed the Lady Ermesande, as she skidded to a stop in her mother’s solar. She paused to unstring her bow, and looked down at her dress, which was somewhat dirty and scattered with straw. She lifted the strap of the quiver over her head. (Three arrows left, and she hoped that her cousins found all the others) She tried to hold herself like a lady while she unbuckled the leather on her left arm. Strands of dark hair had come loose from her braid, and she pushed them back over her ears.

“A raven has arrived for you, Ermi.” Mother waved for her to bring over a chair and sit next to her.

Ermesande set her the bow and tackle on a table in the corner, and hurried to join her mother.

The wax seal was the sign of the Warden of Storm’s End.

> _ Pentos. _
> 
> _ To the esteemed Lady Ermesand, and with respects to your Lady mother.  _
> 
> _ You and your household are invited to the wedding of Lady Brienne of Tarth to Ser Jaime Lannister at Evenstar Hall, on the Isle of Tarth.  _
> 
> _ In addition, we have rescued Ser Tyrek Lannister, your husband. I hope you will be able to receive him properly, and have the facilities to keep him from straying again. The necessary brevity of this letter prevents me from a complete list of his activities since your wedding and his sudden departure from King’s Landing. I will have much more to say on the subject when we meet.  _
> 
> _ I look forward to introducing my intended husband and his (soon to be our) daughter, as you and I will be connected by our marriage to the Lannister family.  _
> 
> _ Yours,  _
> 
> _ Brienne of Tarth, Lady of Storm’s End _

  
  


“My husband?” Ermi tried to remember what she’d been told.

“My dear, when you were born, King Joffery was on the throne.” Her mother’s expression was sad. “Your father was newly buried, and the only way to protect us all was for you to marry a Lannister. Tyrek was just a boy himself, but the two of you saved us.”

“What do I do with a husband?” Ermisand knew that her schooling was preparing her to manage an estate, and to understand the customs and blood ties that bound the nobles of Westros together, and bound them all to King Bran. None of that schooling had mentioned how a husband and a wife were tied together, except inked lines in the “family trees” of the great houses.

“Emi, I don’t know.” Mother looked even more lost. “Let’s meet him, and see what sort of man he has become. It seems he is to be our guest, and we can decide whether you will truly be his wife in a few years, or we can petition King Bran to annul the marriage.”

Emi tried to imagine herself in silk, at the head of the table in the great hall at Castle Hayford. Her husband would be just as splendid, but she couldn’t imagine anyone in the Lord’s chair. He would greet guests, make toasts, command the Hayford archers, but she could not hear a voice.

Emi swiped her hand across her face, and her fingers were now wet.

“Don’t cry,” said Mother. “Ser Tyrek is your lord by the word of the law, but the Hayford people don’t know him, and they know and love you. If it pleases the Seven, all will be well.”

  
  


Ermisand spent the next three days watching her mother bent over her papers. The pen never left her hand. Mother made lists of things for the housekeepers to prepare for a high-born guest, and she also made sketches of iron bars for the windows of one of the tower rooms, and gave instructions to smiths and stonemasons for the work required for a heavy oak door, barred on the outside. 

  
  
  


The trip was amazing. She and her cousins rode miles and miles to King’s Landing. Their escorts flew the Hayford colors, and it was all a properly exciting procession. The food brought by the innkeepers was delicious in its novelty, and the beds were all soft because she was tired from riding. 

Two days on the boat from the harbour at King’s landing to the Isle of Tarth was an opportunity for some sea-sickness, but the Island was lovely.

  
  
  
  


Servants in blue and red Tarth colors brought Ermi and her mother to a room looking out to the sea. It was odd to sleep in a bed that didn’t move with the ship. Ermi supposed there were many strange things she could get used to. She wondered if the Lord Tyrek were one of those things.

The next morning, Ermi was bathed and dressed in haste. She got to eat a few bites of bread, while her dark hair was combed smooth and arranged in braids. The new gown was golden yellow silk, trimmed with pale fur at the neck and sleeves. The skirt brushed the top of her shoes when she stood up. It was a proper grown-up ladies’ gown, even if Ermi still saw a girl when she looked in the big mirror.

Two servants brought Ermi and her mother to a large room with a huge fireplace on one wall, and equally large windows on the other. A large, fair-haired man was seated at a table, and Ermi remembered “Selwyn of Tarth” from one of her lessons.

“The Lady Ermesande and the Lady Hayworth to see you, Lady Brienne,” announced the taller of the servants.

“Thank you, Alex.” The voice was female, and Ermi realized she wasn’t meeting the Evenstar. “Welcome to Tarth, I’m delighted to meet both of you, and we need to make some plans for the Ser Tyrek.”

Ermi curtsied to the tall Lady with the sword, who took her hand and guided her to sit down.

The Lady Brienne spent some time describing Tyrek Lannister’s activities since the wedding, long ago in King’s Landing. He’d been to places from Winterfell, to Bronzgate, to Pentos and “there are a lot of gaps,” concluded the Lady, her brow creased in a frown. “He’s been living by his wits more than his sword, as far as we can tell. I am not going to speak for his character. It is clearly a luxury he was not able to afford.”

Ermi felt herself shrinking into the yellow dress. She was married to a vagabond and a trickster. How had King Joffery required such a horrible thing?

Mother spoke. “Workmen are preparing a room for Lord Tyrek. I’m afraid it combines the bars of a prison with the luxuries we owe the lord of the castle.”

“Better than he deserves, probably.” Lady Brienne’s smirk was not scary at all. “Now, Ermisande, we must plan how you will greet your husband when you meet.”

  
  
  


The door from the great hall stood open. The hall itself was filled with guests, seated at tables for dinner, and servants, bearing wine or food.

The hall was silent, all of the guests knew what was happening. Gossip about the return of Tyrek was racing around the hall, and the town. Rumors contradicted each other. Some said the Lord Tyrek was tall and handsome, some said he was bent or maimed. Everyone wanted to see.

Ermi stood up as tall as she could in her golden-yellow dress. Her mother waited at her left, and three Hayford armsmen stood at attention behind them.

Three men in Lannister red and gold entered together. 

Ermi realized smallest was Lord Tyrion, and the one with the sword on his right side was, without doubt, Ser Jaime. (Ermi remembered the Lannister family tree. Those two men were brothers to King Baratheon’s Queen Cersei, and uncles to King Joeffry. Now that King Bran wore the crown, they were just two more graying Lannister knights.)

The Lannister in the middle was young, sleek, and clean-shaven. His tunic fit oddly, as if it were not his own, and he carried no blade, not even a knife. The planes of his face were elegant, and his eyes were the same eerie green as his cousins. So this was Ser Tyrek.

“My lord husband,” said Ermisande as clearly as she could. She curtsied low, as she had practiced. “It has been a long time.”

“My Lady,” said the man. His fingers were twitching as if he did not know what he wanted. “You have grown.”

“My Lady mother and I have ordered Hayford Castle to be prepared for a proper welcome for the Lord. You will be returning with us in a sennight. I hope you will be pleased with how we have managed the castle and lands in your absence.”

Ser Tyrek nodded. “I’m sure.”

“My lord husband,” said Ermisande, as she held out her hand.

Ser Jaime elbowed the younger man and shoved him forward.

Ser Tyrek took her hand, and she pulled him to stand between herself and her mother.

Lord Tyrion and Ser Jaime joined the Lady Brienne at the head table, and everyone went back to their wine and conversation.

The play-acting was over, she had a husband, and she had no idea what to say to him.

Ser Tyrek leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Well, this is awkward!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lannister colors are red and gold. The Hayford colors are green and yellow. Lady Ermisande is wearing a yellow color that splits the difference.
> 
> Their greeting is awkward for a reason. Lady Ermisande needs to greet her husband politely, even though it is functionally a transfer of a prisoner from the custody of Ser Jaime, to the custody of Lady Ermisande and her mother.
> 
> In case anyone cares, Ser Tyrek is wearing Alex Hill’s tunic. (sometimes he is required to blend in at Lannister family events.) I don’t know if Alex wants the garment back or not.


	44. Brienne XIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by SeeThemFlying

The journey back from Pentos was a complex one – after a brief stop on Tarth, where Selwyn finally got to meet his first grandchild – it was decided that Jaime and Brienne would return to Storm’s End before coming back to her ancestral homeland for the wedding.

“That sounds like a good plan to me,” said Selwyn, dandling Cora on his knee as Brienne explained what they intended to do. “What business do you have in Storm’s End?”

“My household need to be informed of my intention to marry,” replied Brienne, “especially considering Jaime’s desire to live life as Jaime _Lannister_ not Jaime _Lefford.”_

“No more lies,” said Jaime, squeezing her hand gently.

Selwyn smiled at them both. “Is there anything I could do to help?”

“Well, it might be prudent to keep Tyrek under guard here until we return. I intend to invite the Lady Ermesande Hayford and her family to the wedding. She is his betrothed; it is up to them whether they want to honour the agreement.”

“Perhaps you could also begin planning for the wedding?” suggested Jaime. “No one knows Tarth better than you, so you would be able to manage preparations better than Brienne or I.”

Selwyn smiled at the pair of them. “Of course. And what about the guest list?”

At that, the three of them sat down and discussed everyone they wanted in attendance. The first were the little group who even now were most probably huddled together at King’s Landing – Tyrion, King Bran, Temmen Bentbrook, Pod, Syros – most of whom had been involved in various levels of plotting and planning to arrange the reunion of the Kingslayer and the Maid of Tarth.

“Perhaps we should invite Verra?” Brienne had suggested. Jaime was reluctant, but Brienne eventually persuaded him by saying that Cora missed her, and she had no doubt that Verra was very, very sorry.

Then there were those they were obliged to invite; all the bannermen of the Stormland. These included the Bucklers, of course, along with the Cafferans and Carons, Penroses and Peaseburys, Selmys and Swanns. All would have to be in attendance to see the new Lord and Lady of Storm’s End wed. After that list was decided, the invites grew more personal once more.

“I would like Ser Addam Marbrand there,” Jaime insisted. “He was my closest friend in childhood, as he squired at Casterly Rock when I was a boy.”

“And of course the Queen in the North must be in attendance,” added Brienne. “It has been a long time since I have seen her.” Indeed, the last time Brienne had seen Sansa, she had still been weighed down by grief for Jaime. How times had changed.

Selwyn listened to all the plans being laid out, before sending for a scribe to start writing out the letters. “Will that be all?” he asked, as Cora began to pull at the gold chain around his neck.

“I think so,” replied Brienne. “At least until Jaime and I are back from Storm’s End.”

In truth, it took quite some time to depart from Storm’s End, not least because Cora found it quite difficult to leave Selwyn.

“I want grandpa to come with us!” she demanded from the comfort of Jaime’s arms, just before they began to make their way down to the harbour to meet the ship that would take them to Storm’s End.

Selwyn chuckled. “I can’t come with you, my little love, but I will see you soon. You will be back before too long.” He managed to console her with more sweet words and a kiss on the head, before shaking Jaime’s hand, and then wrapping his arms around Brienne to say goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, my starlight, and don’t worry I’ll have everything ready.”

“For the wedding,” Brienne said, shooting a happy look at Jaime.

“For the wedding,” he agreed, before leaning in and kissing her cheek.

*/*/*/*/*

When Brienne arrived back at Storm’s End with Ser Jaime Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister, the Kingslayer, the Lion of Lannister, and his golden-haired bastard daughter, the whole castle was mad with gossip.

“What ever happened to Ser Jaime Lefford?”

“I don’t know. Wasn’t he in Pentos?”

“Don’t ask me, I’m not her lady’s maid. I just clean the privies.”

“We are so stupid. Jaime _Lefford,_ Jaime _Lannister._ Why did no one notice it before?”

Perhaps the most enraged by this development was Maester Basaol. Once Brienne had sent Jaime and Cora off to get acquainted with the castle gardens, Basaol rounded on her in her solar, his eyes shining with anger.

“I have to counsel you against this foolish match, my lady,” he said, full of his usual pomposity. “Jaime Lannister is an oathbreaker, a liar, and a _Lannister._ He will bring dishonour upon your house. The whole of the Seven Kingdoms knew you as the Kingslayer’s Whore even before you dragged him all the way back from Pentos. Why bring more ignominy on your name than you have already? And to think, you are going to name his bastard daughter as your own! The rumours my lady, the rumours about the child’s mother…”

Brienne tried to keep her voice calm, but it was very difficult. Maester Basaol had a way of irking her no end. “If you don’t mind, Maester Basaol, I happen to think there is nothing dishonourable in marrying a man who saved a whole city at the cost of his honour, who lost his hand in defence of a lady, who pledged himself to fight an army of the dead when he did not have to.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “And I will never be ashamed of marrying the man I love.”

Maester Basaol wore an expression of mocking amusement. “And I thought you wanted to behave like a leading noble of the realm, not like a silly woman swayed by a handsome face.”

Brienne sighed. No matter what she ever did or said to Maester Basaol, she would never be able to convince him than she was anything other than a foolish woman. Consequently, she decided the best course of action was to hand him over to Jaime. Ser Jaime Lefford had promised her he would find a way to be useful, so maybe Ser Jaime Lannister could deal with her troublesome maester.

“Maester Basaol, if you don’t mind, the journey from Tarth was a rough one, so I really would like to rest awhile before taking this conversation any further. I believe Ser Jaime is down in the gardens with Cora. Could you please bring him to me?”

That made Maester Basaol redden with anger. “You are not intending on sharing this room with him are you? You are not yet married! It is scandalous.”

Brienne tried not to smile, but it was very difficult because her mind kept drifting to all the times she had spent with Jaime that Maester Basaol would be truly outraged by; the bath at Harrenhall, the cold nights at Winterfell pressed together under the furs, on the lower deck of the fishmonger’s boat on their first journey to Tarth together…

“No,” she said mildly. “Ser Jaime will sleep in separate rooms until we are wed, but it is no crime to speak to my betrothed, so please will you get him for me?”

Knowing he no longer had a leg to stand on, Basaol huffed, gave her a stiff bow, and made his way out of the room. Brienne laughed to herself; Jaime knew all about her pompous Maester, so she hoped that on their way from the gardens, Jaime would give him the type of tongue-lashing that only he was truly capable of.

Once Basaol was gone, Brienne left the solar and retreated to her rooms where she went to the large wooden chest, wrenching it open to begin looking for what she wanted. In an instant, she found it. At the bottom was the gift that Sansa had sent her many moons ago, when she had been sad and mourning Jaime. There were the pair of dark blue silken breeches, the light blue tunic embroidered with suns and silver moons, and the satin cloak with the sigils of the houses of the Stormlands.

Brienne remembered her thought at the time she had opened Sansa’s gift; that it was too late for a maiden’s cloak, and that it belonged to another life, another Jaime, that was long gone and lost to her.

_But he’s back,_ Brienne thought happily. _And the life I want to live… the gods are allowing me to live it._

She was still running her hands over the material when the door swung open and Jaime came swaggering inside.

“Jaime,” Brienne smiled on seeing him. “Where is Cora?”

Not stopping for a second, he came and sat down next to her, planting a firm kiss on her lips. “The kitchen staff are showing her how to make lemon cakes. I thought you might want to come and watch.”

The thought of herself, Jaime, and Cora together over cakes was too good a prospect to miss, so she said, “of course, although… I wonder whether Maester Basaol would approve of such scandalous behaviour.”

Jaime chuckled darkly. “Oh… maybe a certain knight has had a quiet word with a certain maester…”

“Has he now?” Brienne teased.

“Maybe,” replied Jaime, before kissing her again. At that, he noticed Sansa’s gift in Brienne’s hands. “What is this?”

Suddenly realising that it was unlucky for the groom to see the bride’s wedding cloak, Brienne stuffed it behind her back. “Not for you to know about!”

Jaime just looked amused. “Alright then, wench, not for me to know about… but I hope to know it soon.”

She smiled, “you will, my love. You will.”

They sat on the bed for a while just kissing and holding each other, until it reached that moment where they could either go ahead and spend the rest of the day in bed together or turn back and see the joy on Cora’s face at the magic worked by the kitchen staff.

“I think lemon cakes,” said Brienne as she straightened up her clothes. “We wouldn’t want to upset Maester Basaol.”

“Indeed,” laughed Jaime. “We wouldn’t.”

And then, Brienne spent the rest of the day – which she would remember as one of the happiest days of her life – just eating lemon cakes with Jaime and Cora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This happens at the same time as the first half of Lady Ermesande I, when Jaime and Brienne travel back to Storm's End briefly to tell their household the news of their wedding.


	45. Brienne XX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written by Meriwyn
> 
> Part 1 of their Wedding Day!!! Part 2 to follow soon.

Brienne stood in front of her mirror in her old rooms at Evenfall Hall, fussing with her wedding attire. She wasn’t used to being dressed in such fine silks and garments in general and as a result she kept picking at the sleeves and the waist, hoping she looked alright.

She was a vision in blue from head to toe. The dark blue silk breeches, coupled with a long-sleeved silken tunic in the same color, were covered over with a split-front floor-length over-tunic of a lighter blue. The sleeves were short, allowing the long sleeves of the darker tunic to be seen, and it was embroidered with golden suns and silver moons along the edges, around her waist and the high-necked collar. The collar’s clasp at her throat was a golden sun and silver moon that joined together.

One of her ladies had left her chambers several minutes before, having done Brienne’s hair. She had two simple braids that started at her temples and met at the back of her head, fixed together with a jeweled hair piece of crystals that hung down and looked like drops of rain. The rest of her white blonde hair hung about her shoulders in soft waves. The final piece, a tiara that had belonged to her mother…a thin silver band that sat across her forehead, with a small sun and moon design at the center, completed her outfit.

She fastened _Oathkeeper_ around her waist, smiling as she looked at it in the mirror. The sword was a part of Jaime that she had carried with her for years and she wasn’t about to leave it out of the most important day of their lives.

Looking over herself once again, Brienne still couldn’t believe this was happening. She would have never thought a day like this would ever come for her, especially being able to marry for love and not duty. And to Jaime Lannister of all men. Not only had she despaired of never being married, but to now be marrying the most handsome man in Westeros? It was all so surreal to her. She wished every single man who ever teased or taunted her could see her now.

The door to her room flew open and in ran Cora, being chased by Lord Selwyn Tarth. Brienne turned around to smile at the both of them. Cora stopped in her tracks and her green eyes went wide.

“Wowwww,” she whispered. “You’re the prettiest mumma in the whole world.”

Brienne chuckled. “Thank you, little love, do you think papa will like it?” She twirled around to show off her entire ensemble.

“If he doesn’t, he’s a fool,” Selwyn said, walking towards her. “Oh, starlight, you look absolutely beautiful.” He put his hands on her arms and kissed her on the cheek. “Your mother’s tiara looks perfect on you,” he said, his eyes becoming teary.

Brienne brought her hand up to caress her father’s cheek. “It feels like she’s here.”

Selwyn nodded. “She is, I can feel it.” He kissed Brienne once more and reached for her wedding cloak. “May I?”

Brienne blushed and nodded and turned so Selwyn could fasten the cloak about her shoulders. When he was finished, Brienne turned around again and Selwyn offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Brienne took a deep breath and slid her hand into the crook of her father’s arm. She looked down at Cora.

“And look at you! You look very lovely.”

“Thank you,” she beamed and twirled around, her ever-present doll clutched in her hand.

Cora was dressed in a green gown to match her eyes. She had a light green underdress with a dark green split-front gown over it. Her golden curls hung freely, topped off with a wreath of flowers on the top of her head. Cora walked forward to take Brienne’s other hand.

The Great Sept of Tarth was on a small cliff overlooking the sea, built specifically for its views at sunset. It was said there was no finer view in all of Westeros. It was for this reason that Brienne and Jaime had decided the wedding would be held at that time of day.

As Selwyn, Brienne, and Cora approached the Sept in their carriage, the sun was just beginning to set over the Narrow Sea. The sky was a beautiful palette of lavender, blue, pink and a splash of orange. The light that would filter through the Sept’s stained glass windows would be breathtaking.

The carriage pulled up and Selwyn got out and offered his hand to Brienne, aiding her in climbing out. He then picked Cora up to carry her inside. Brienne stopped at the top of the steps to look out over the water, watching the gulls swooping overhead, and letting the breeze caress her face and stir her hair. She closed her eyes and smiled.

“Starlight, is everything alright?” Selwyn asked, stepping up beside her.

“Yes father, just taking it all in,” Brienne said, turning to face him. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

Selwyn smiled and teased her. “Believe me, starlight, there were times I didn’t think this day would ever come either.”

Brienne playfully slapped his arm but smiled. “Thank you for believing in me,” she said. “I just had to do things in my own way and my own time.”

Selwyn nodded. “I see that now, and I couldn’t be happier about the woman you’ve become.”

Podrick met them at the door, dressed in his gold Kingsguard armor. He smiled with tears in his eyes when he saw Brienne. She ran to him and pulled him into an embrace. Bran hadn’t wanted to make a huge showing of himself, so he only brought Podrick and one other member of the Kingsguard along with him.

“Oh, how fine you look,” she said, standing back to look him up and down. Podrick had changed quite a bit since the Great War. He was more muscle now than baby fat, his hair had grown and he liked to wear it in the style of the North, with the top part cinched into a bun while the rest hung free. He also now had a beard.

“My lady you are truly a vision,” he said, grasping her hands. He then leaned in to whisper in her ear. “And wait until you see Ser Jaime,” he leaned back to wink at her. Brienne blushed and giggled. Podrick then turned to Cora. “Are you ready, little lady?”

Brienne squatted down to look Cora in the eye. “Alright my little love, you remember what to do, yes? You’re going to go with Ser Podrick and then once grandpapa gets to your seats you can go back to him, alright?”

Cora smiled and nodded, reaching up to pat Brienne on the face like she always did. “What does getting married mean?”

“It means that your papa and I will be together for the rest of our lives.”

Cora’s eyes lit up. “Forever and ever?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Me too?”

“Yes, darling, you too,” Brienne took Cora in her arms.

“I’m so happy you’re my mumma now,” Cora whispered, as if they were sharing a secret. She then suddenly handed Brienne her doll.

“What’s this for, little love?” Brienne asked.

“It’s for luck, I don’t want you to be scared.”

Brienne swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’ll take very good care of it, darling, and I’ll give it back to you when the ceremony is over, alright?”

Cora nodded. “Okay, mumma.”

Brienne hugged her again and kissed her on the cheek. “Alright go with Podrick, be a good girl for him.”

Cora ran to Podrick and took his hand. “Come on, Podrick,” she began to drag him inside. Podrick looked at Brienne and raised his eyebrows, smiling as he let himself be led by the excited girl.

Clutching Cora’s doll in her left hand, she slipped her right back into the crook of Selwyn’s arm. They went inside, Brienne insisting the doors remain open to let in the breezes and the sea air. The Sept was awash with flickering candlelight, the light from the sunset painting the stained glass windows so the whole place was awash with color.

Brienne took a quick look around at the assembled crowd. Most were people she didn’t know, courtiers and subjects of her father’s. As her gaze wandered towards the front of the aisle, she noticed Arya, Gendry, Bran, and Sansa all together, smiling back at her. Arya even bounced up and down and waved at her. It was all Brienne could do to keep from bursting into tears at the sight of them.

Across from them on the other side of the aisle stood Podrick with Cora, next to Tyrion and Davos. Samwell and Bronn had remained in King’s Landing to oversee matters in the King’s absence.

As she and Selwyn began their walk down the aisle, it was then that Brienne saw him.

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of her chest. Brienne had always known Jaime was handsome, he reminded her of it quite frequently whenever they bantered and he was trying to win, but the spectacle she saw before her at that very moment was indeed god-like.

He stood on the dais at the head of the Sept, his hand clasped over his stump in front of him. He was dressed in a long-tailed coat of deep crimson velvet with golden embroidery along the edges. The dancing Lannister lions adorned the cuffs of each sleeve. The coat hung to his knees, where Brienne could see he wore black breeches with black boots. As she was wearing _Oathkeeper, Widow’s Wail_ hung from Jaime’s waist as well. Around his shoulders was his wedding cloak, made of the same crimson velvet as his coat, the inside of it lined with golden satin.

Looking back up at his face, she saw he also wore a cream silken cravat at his throat, and his golden, slightly greying, locks were brushed back from his face and his beard had been neatly trimmed. Brienne wanted to ravage him right then and there.

Their eyes met, and she could see that Jaime was already crying silent tears. They softly rolled down his cheeks as he smiled at her, his eyes roving over her wedding attire. When his gaze rested upon Cora’s doll clutched in Brienne’s left hand, he drew his brows together in question and looked up at her.

Brienne raised the corner of her mouth in a smirk and jutted out her chin in Cora’s direction. Jaime looked to where their daughter stood holding Podrick’s hand, behaving just as she was told.

Brienne and Selwyn reached the end of the aisle, whereupon Selwyn turned to kiss his daughter on the cheek and then moved to embrace Jaime in a bear hug. Then he stepped back and took his place next to Podrick, where Cora instantly took his hand and then crawled up into his lap once everyone was seated.

“You are just…,” Jaime whispered, fumbling for words. “Look at you…I don’t think I’ve ever see anything quite as beautiful as you are right now.”

Brienne blushed and looked him up and down. “I could say the same about you.”

“Devilishly handsome, aren’t I?” Jaime winked at her. Brienne rolled her eyes but kept smiling at him. They both chuckled softly until the septon came forward and they suddenly felt like naughty children.

“Beloved family, friends, and guests, let it be known that Jaime of House Lannister, and Brienne of House Tarth, have come together today to swear themselves to each other in marriage.”

Jaime reached out to take Brienne’s right hand in his left, as she was still holding Cora’s doll.

“Let it be known that they are one heart, one body, and one soul, and let no one tear them asunder for the rest of their days. Please join hands.”

Jaime turned his hand upwards into Brienne’s, their hands pressed together palm to palm as the septon began wrapping the white silken ribbon around them. They had asked that the tradition of the old gods be included, as a nod to their beginnings in the North.

“Look upon each other and say the words.”

Jaime and Brienne turned their heads towards each other and looked into each other’s eyes. Jaime nodded and they spoke in unison.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers (his) and she (he) is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”

Tears were flowing down both of their faces now and they couldn’t tear their eyes away from each other. The septon unwrapped the ribbon from around their hands and handed it to Brienne, who stuffed it under the edge of her sleeve for safe-keeping. The septon turned to Jaime.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

“Not that she needs much,” Jaime muttered, trying not to giggle.

“Will you hush,” Brienne scolded him, tucking Cora’s doll into her sword belt so she could remove her cloak from her shoulders. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Tyrion put his face in his hand. Jaime tried to hold in a laugh. He unhooked his cloak and slid it off from around his shoulders, holding it up in front of Brienne, motioning for her to turn around.

Jaime laid the cloak over Brienne’s shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze as he did so. He then reached up and brushed the crystals in her hair with his fingertips. Brienne turned around again so Jaime could refasten the cloak at her neck. Brienne then held up her hand and made a motion for him to turn around as well.

“Now you,” she winked at him. Jaime raised his eyebrows. He obviously wasn’t expecting this. He grinned at her and turned, and Brienne put her bridal cloak with the sigils of all of the houses of Storm’s End around Jaime.

“You’re the Lord of Storm’s End now, so this is only appropriate,” Brienne whispered in his ear and she reached over his shoulders to fasten the cloak. Jaime turned back around and straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest slightly. He looked very pleased with himself.

“As is my duty as High Septon of this Island of Tarth, I officially pronounce you lord husband and lady wife, you may now…”

Jaime didn’t even wait. He lunged at Brienne with his hand and his stump on either side of her face and kissed her long and hard. The sept erupted into applause. Cora ran up to them and motioned for Brienne to pick her up.

“Well, what did you think, my darling?” Brienne said once Cora was in her arms. She handed Cora back her doll. “Thank you for letting me borrow this, it made me less nervous,” she kissed Cora on the forehead.

“Oh good, I’m glad, Mumma,” Cora said. Jaime reached out and slipped his arm around Brienne’s waist as others began to come up onto the dais to congratulate them. Jaime then knelt down to draw Tyrion into an embrace.

“Well done, brother,” Tyrion said, dressed in an outfit similar to Jaime’s. “Now then, I would like to meet my niece.”

“Oh yes, of course…Bree?” Jaime reached for Cora. “Tyrion would like to meet our daughter.”

Brienne handed her over to Jaime. “But not before I get to hug him,” she beamed down at Tyrion and then knelt to embrace him. “Oh, my little love, it’s so good to see you.”

“And you, goodsister, which I am now officially allowed to call you,” Tyrion said, his smile bright behind his bushy beard. “And I’m glad I finally can. You look absolutely beautiful.” His eyes were shiny.

“Thank you,” Brienne whispered. “For everything.” She hoped he would understand what she was talking about. He did.

Tyrion nodded and took her hands in his. “It was the least I could do after our sweet sister caused everyone so much pain. You and Jaime were destined for each other, I don’t think there’s anyone in Westeros who could deny that.”

Brienne kissed him on the forehead and suddenly Cora was beside her. Brienne slipped an arm around her.

“Cora, this is your Uncle Tyrion, Papa’s brother.”

“Hello, Tyrrrin,” she stumbled over his name. Tyrion kissed her hand and she giggled.

“Hello, Lady Cora, you and I are going to be great friends,” Tyrion said. “Would you like to sit by me at the feast?”

“Okay!” Cora said. She would likely be the most popular one at the wedding feast anyway and end up sitting in a wide array of seats before the evening was over.

Before Brienne could stand up she was practically tackled by Arya Stark, who was hugging her around the waist.

“Oh, Arya, my darling!” Brienne screamed, reaching out to pull Sansa into her embrace as well. “Oh, my girls, I’m so happy you’re here.”

“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Sansa said, leaning her head on Brienne’s shoulder.

Brienne reached out to rub Gendry’s cheek. “Hello, Gendry,” she smiled warmly at him.

“My lady,” he smiled and bowed.

Brienne looked over her shoulder to see Jaime engrossed in conversation with Davos and Podrick. Cora was still chatting Tyrion's ear off.

Selwyn’s voice suddenly rang out over all of the chaos, which wasn’t difficult considering who he was.

“Right everyone, we can do all of this over the fine feast we have prepared up at Evenfall! I don’t know about the rest of you, but I have reveling to do!”

Everyone cheered.

“Why is grandpapa yelling?” Cora said, her hand locked in Tyrion’s. Brienne looked down at her.

“He’s very excited about supper.”

“Ohhh. I am too then,” she began to pull Tyrion along. “Come on, Tyrrrin, it’s supper time.”

Tyrion looked back over his shoulder at Brienne and Jaime and raised his eyebrows. They laughed at him and waited while the others filed out of the sept.

“Well, wife,” Jaime took her hand and brought it up to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “Supper awaits…as do other things,” he kissed her hand again, longer this time, and gave her that look.

“We have guests to attend to first and besides, I’m starving,” Brienne chuckled. Jaime sighed.

“Right let’s go then, the sooner we eat the sooner I can take you to bed…Lady Lannister.”

“That’s Ser Lady Lannister to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wedding feast and wedding NIGHT coming next chapter in Part 2! Stay tuned!


	46. Jaime XIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written by Meriwyn
> 
> Wedding night! Warning...smut ahead ;)

Jaime was already tipsy by the time the third course arrived. Tyrion had been sneakily filling his brother’s wine goblet all evening, and Jaime simply kept drinking without even realizing it kept filling up. Brienne had to finally chastise her new goodbrother to keep him from ruining her new husband before could perform his duties later.

He spent the entire evening by Brienne’s side, mostly as they sat at the head table while their guests came up to congratulate them a few at a time. Jaime played the part of the gracious lord, but honestly he couldn’t have cared less about anything that evening except his new wife. He constantly touched her, kissed her, held her hand…he simply couldn’t get enough of her.

Cora, as predicted, was all over the banquet hall, charming anyone and everyone who would let her. She was currently sitting in Davos’ lap playing with her doll as he sat chatting with Tyrion.

“Is it time to go to bed yet?” Jaime asked Brienne for about the sixth time. Brienne rolled her eyes and laughed at him.

“We have guests, my love,” she said. “We’ll go soon enough, I promise.”

Jamie sighed and slumped in his chair. Functions such as these bored him, even though it was his own wedding feast. Toasts were made, there was music and loud merrymaking, but Jaime had his mind on only one thing. Brienne leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“I’ll tell you what, let me make one last round of the hall, thanking everyone for coming, and then we can go, alright, love?”

Jaime perked up at that. He grinned wide and his eyes lit up. “Alright.” He reached over and brought Brienne’s hand to his lips, kissing it softly as she got up to make her rounds. His eyes followed her as she made her way around the tables, his cock stirring slightly as he watched her, thinking about what would come later.

Tyrion was suddenly next to him, sitting in Brienne’s chair.

“Hello, brother,” Tyrion said, holding up a jug. “More wine?”

Jaime held up his hand. “I think you’ve given me enough, I need to be able to perform later.” He smirked. “And I’m already slightly drunk.”

“Somehow I think you’ll do just fine,” Tyrion said, giving Jaime a sideways glance. Jaime shifted in his chair to face his brother.

“Thank you, for this, for bringing Brienne back to me.”

“You don’t deserve her, you know,” Tyrion said, smiling.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Jaime said, his eyes once again returning to Brienne at the other end of the hall. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to prove that I do.”

“Good man,” Tyrion saluted him with his goblet.

Cora had moved on from Davos and was now sitting between Sansa and Arya, showing them her doll.

“Although I’ll have to hide yet another child,” Jaime said sadly.

“Why? Everyone knows she’s yours, there’s nothing to hide.”

“Well, yes, but I have to keep her mother a secret, don’t I? People know she’s not Brienne’s by blood.”

Tyrion turned to stare incredulously at Jaime. “Do you really want people to know our sweet sister is her mother?”

Jaime made a face. “Of course not, it’s not exactly something I’m proud of.”

“So, all people have to know is that her mother is some woman you met in Essos who died,” Tyrion said. “I’ll support you in that ruse, as I’m sure will Brienne as well.”

Jaime simply nodded. He once again swept his gaze around the feast hall, watching his friends laugh together, drink together, and just celebrate life. They would all be here for at least a sennight, so he would have time to spend with all of them, but right now all he wanted to do was bed his new wife.

“As long as our sweet sister keeps herself across the Narrow Sea and doesn’t make trouble,” he said.

“Leave Cersei to me if it ever comes to that,” Tyrion said. “You forget I have the backing of the King.” It wasn’t an empty threat.

Brienne finally made her way back to him, sitting in the chair on the opposite side of Jaime from Tyrion.

“Everyone seems pretty engrossed in their revelry,” she said to Jaime. “We can probably slip out relatively unnoticed.”

“Love, have you forgotten how tall we both are?” Jaime said. “I find that highly unlikely.”

“Alright fine, watch this then,” Brienne said, rising quickly to her feet. Reaching for her wine goblet, she tapped it with her spoon, eventually gaining the attention of everyone in the great hall.

“What are you doing?” Jaime said through clenched teeth, looking around uneasily at the crowd.

“My lords, ladies, and assembled guests,” Brienne’s voice rang out across the hall. “My lord husband and I want to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for attending our wedding this fine day.”

Jaime smiled and waved awkwardly at everyone. Brienne continued.

“Please, remain and enjoy your food, drink, and revelry for as long as you wish, but the time has come for Jaime and I to bid you goodnight,” she blushed and returned her goblet to the table.

The crowd cheered and made bawdy noises as Brienne reached down to take Jaime’s hand and pull him to his feet. After bidding goodnight to Tyrion, they left the hall.

Jaime couldn’t keep his hands off Brienne the entire way to their chambers. They stumbled and giggled through the halls of Evenfall, with Jaime pulling Brienne behind one of the tapestries at one point and kissing her senseless.

“Jaime, we’re almost to our room, can’t you be patient just a few more minutes?” Brienne laughed as he assaulted her face with his lips.

“I’ve been waiting for this all night,” Jaime grumbled, his hand and stump wandering all over Brienne’s body.

Brienne grabbed his hand and yanked him out from behind the elaborate wall decoration. “Come on, you.”

They finally reached their chambers, which were actually Brienne’s old rooms from when she had lived there as a girl. Brienne opened the door just in time for Cora to run by them in a flash of green and gold and slip into the room and up onto their bed.

Jaime stopped and looked at their daughter and then at Brienne and back to Cora again.

“Um…hello there,” he said to the little girl making herself at home in their bed, much to Jaime’s chagrin. “What are you doing, sweetling?”

“It’s bedtime,” Cora said, making herself comfortable.

“Oh, right,” Brienne turned to Jaime so Cora couldn’t see her face. “I forgot to mention that. Cora likes to sleep with me, she’s been doing it ever since she came to Storm’s End.”

“Well we’re going to curb _that_ habit right quick,” Jaime added quietly.

Lord Selwyn Tarth came running into the room, huffing from running after Cora. He blushed and looked apologetically at Brienne and Jaime. He walked over to Cora and sat down on the side of the bed.

“Not tonight, my dear, remember?”

“Yes, my little love,” Brienne said softly, walking over to them. “Remember tonight you’re going to stay with grandpapa?”

Selwyn leaned towards Cora and smiled. “We’re going to stuff ourselves with lemon cakes, and play games and tell stories, and have lots of fun, alright?”

“Can Unca Tyrrrin come too?” Cora’s face lit up at the prospect of a night spent misbehaving.

“Well let’s go find him and ask him, shall we?” Selwyn said, reaching up to scoop her into his arms. Cora squealed with delight as Selwyn turned her upside down. “Come say goodnight to Mumma and Papa.”

“Goodnight Mumma,” Cora leaned forward in Selwyn’s arms to kiss and pat Brienne on the face. She then did the same to Jaime. “Goodnight, Papa.”

“Goodnight, little love,” Brienne said.

“Be a good girl for grandpapa,” Jaime said.

“Thank you, father,” Brienne whispered.

“Have fun, you two,” Selwyn winked before disappearing out the door with Cora. Jaime went to close and lock the door, smiling as he could hear Cora chattering away to her grandfather as they made their way down the hall. Turning around, he leaned back seductively against the doorway.

“Alone at last,” he said to Brienne, who smiled at his attempts to seduce her. She crooked her finger at him and motioned for him to come to her. He did, and rather eagerly at that. Jaime came into Brienne’s waiting arms, kissing her deeply and pulling her tightly against him. He moaned softly in his throat.

“Hello, wife,” he smiled and whispered against her lips. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to call you that.” He began to unbuckle _Oathkeeper_ from around her waist.

“Jaime,” Brienne whispered as he laid her sword on the small dining table in their room. “This is really it this time, yes? No more running, no more hiding from each other.”

Jaime took her face in his hand and his stump and looked into her eyes. “I promise, I’ll never leave your side again, and I’ll never keep anything from you ever again,” he kissed her again to emphasize his point.

Brienne smiled. “Good, because if it ever happens again, I will come after you next time and I will throttle you,” she broke out into a laugh.

Jaime remained serious, running his hand through her hair. “I promise, love,” he made sure she understood him. Brienne nodded at him.

“Now then,” Jaime grinned at her. “Your lion wants to mate, let’s see if we can make Cora a sibling or two.” The husky tone of his voice made Brienne’s insides warm. She raised her eyebrows.

“Already?” She giggled. Jaime smirked at her.

“Well, there’s no harm in practicing, right?” He snickered.

“No, I suppose not,” Brienne said, undoing the buckles on his velvet coat and sliding the silken cravat from his neck. She reached down and unbuckled _Widow’s Wail_ from around Jaime’s hips, placing it next to _Oathkeeper_ on the table. Turning back to him, Brienne slid his coat from his shoulders and laid it on the back of one of the chairs, along with his cravat.

Running the palm of her hand slowly over the front of his pants, she felt him harden almost instantly. Jaime closed his eyes and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. He lifted his arms for her as she pulled his shirt over his head and discarded it on a chair as well.

Reaching up, Jaime undid the sun and moon clasp at Brienne’s throat and then ran his hand down the front of her split surcoat, undoing each buckle as he passed it. Nuzzling her jawline with his cheek, his breath against her skin made her break out in gooseflesh.

“You looked so beautiful tonight,” he whispered, sliding her coat from her shoulders, leaving her in her dark blue silken tunic and breeches. He ran his hand slowly over her chest, feeling her nipples tighten through the soft fabric as he gently ran his thumb over them.

“So did you,” Brienne mumbled, kissing along his jawline now, rubbing his crotch with more pressure. Jaime groaned as he unlaced her tunic.

“Careful, wife, or I won’t last very long,” his breath shuddered against her cheek.

Brienne’s tunic fell to the floor and they immediately started in on each other’s breeches. Pushing them down to their knees, they kicked off their boots until they finally stood before each other, naked as their name days.

“Come here,” Jaime growled, grabbing Brienne and crushing her to his body, devouring her lips in a fierce kiss. They became frantic, grabbing at each other, kissing and biting and groaning. Brienne’s hands went to her hair to remove her delicate veil of crystals before Jaime stopped her.

“Leave it on,” he rasped, dragging bearded kisses across her throat. “Tell me, Brienne, I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what, love?” She breathlessly moaned back at him, her eyes closed and her head thrown back as he ravaged her neck.

“Tell me you love me.”

“Jaime, sweetheart, you know I do.”

“I want to hear it,” he reached down to grab a healthy handful of her backside. “Please.”

“I love you,” Brienne said, arching her breasts into Jaime’s chest.

He groaned and picked her up in a move that surprised her. Holding her around his waist by her thighs, Jaime carried Brienne over to the bed and threw her down on her back. “See, I told you I’m strong enough,” he laughed as he kissed his way up her belly to lavish attention on her breasts.

Brienne put her arms over her head and arched her back, surrendering to Jaime’s mouth. He ran his hands down her sides, eventually placing his hand and his stump on the insides of her thighs. Spreading them open, he crouched over her.

“Now that we’re married, this is official,” he snarled at her with a lusty grin. Brienne smiled up at him as he thrust into her, causing them both to groan deeply and loudly.

“Oh yes,” Jaime moaned. “I’ve been waiting for this all damn night.”

He wasn’t gentle or slow, and Brienne didn’t care. They both needed this and wanted it so badly that their coupling became passionate and animalistic. Jaime’s thrusts were long and deep, his face buried in her neck as Brienne wrapped her legs around him and continued to arch up into him.

Gripping him by the shoulders, Brienne flipped them over, putting Jaime flat on his back. Surprised at how easy she made the move, he shifted his hips fully underneath her, grabbing onto her buttocks and helping her move on him.

He growled deep in his chest. “That’s it, that’s my wench.” He thrust his hips upwards into her, raising his knees so she could lean back against him. Brienne reached back and gripped the undersides of Jaime’s thighs, leaning her head back and writhing on top of him.

Jaime thought her the most wondrous creature he had ever seen at that moment. He planted his feet and brought his hips up off the bed, burying himself as far into his wife as he could go. When he brought his hand down to rub her frantically where they were joined, Brienne’s fingers sunk into the fleshy muscles of his legs.

Brienne began to make small cries, each one louder and higher than the one before. Finally she shouted out his name and arched her back once more as she shuddered around his cock, which in turn set Jaime off and he fell off the cliff right after her.

Jaime groaned loudly as he spilled into her, the muscles in his body tensing as spasms wracked him. Finally, he collapsed under Brienne, his legs and arms spread out as he laughed quietly with his wife still atop him. She ran her fingers through the hair on his belly.

“Gods, woman, if you do that to me every night you’re going to be the end of me.”

Brienne laughed and moved off of him to go wet a cloth in the basin next to the hearth. Bringing it back over she began to clean him off and then herself. Placing the cloth back in the bowl, she crawled into bed beside him.

Jaime wrapped himself around his wife, once again needing the comforting weight of her presence against him.

“I’ll make sure to take good care of you afterwards,” she teased him, running her fingertips over the arm that was now draped over her stomach. Jaime hummed happily against her shoulder, slipping a leg in between both of hers.

“You better, I’m an old man,” Jaime said sleepily, still a bit pleasantly hazy from the wine.

Brienne giggled. “Maybe, but you’re _my_ old man.”

“Always.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brienne’s eyes slowly opened sometime later, still blurry from sleep. The room seemed darker than usual and she quickly realized that it was also noticeably colder than it should be. Opening her eyes further, she glanced over towards the hearth and saw that the fire had gone down considerably. Listening and looking towards the windows, she saw that it had begun storming at some point during the night. She hoped Cora was alright with her father.

Turning her head, she looked at Jaime. He was buried under the blanket that covered their bed, sprawled out with only the spiky tips of his hair poking out from the coverings. Brienne smirked to herself. She still couldn’t believe she was finally his, and he was finally hers. She constantly thought about that night he had showed up at her door in Winterfell, slightly drunk, looking disheveled and completely terrified. Of course she had been as well, but it was nice to see she hadn’t been alone in feeling that way. He had never been more adorable to her than that night, where he had gazed at her in awe and reverence, as she helped him remove his clothing.

The chilled air brought her out of her thoughts, and she took a deep breath and threw back the blanket, tiptoeing quickly across the floor to the fireplace. She reached for a few logs from the pile and laid them gently over the low flames and glowing embers. Kneeling down on the fur in front of the hearth, she blew on the embers and watched as they glowed brighter, the low flames eventually catching the new logs ablaze.

The room eventually glowed again, the warmth spreading across the floor. Brienne closed her eyes and sat up, basking in the fire’s heat. Sighing and stretching, she laid down on her back on the furs and let the peace wash over her. Moments like this were rare for Brienne. It was not very often that she was able to shed her stoic exterior and simply enjoy privacy and being a woman. Stretching her arms over her head, she smiled and took a deep breath, reveling in the feel of the soft furs beneath her bare skin.

She was so lost in her thoughts and the pleasant laziness in her limbs that she didn’t even hear Jaime move on the bed. He had apparently reached for her in his sleep and finding her not there, became concerned and had awoken. He finally spotted her laying on the furs in front of the hearth, bathed in firelight, and he became entranced. Brienne’s eyes were closed and she had a small smile on her face. Jaime’s eyes wandered up and down her lengthy form as he wondered what she was thinking about at that very moment. He lay on his belly and just watched her, completely captivated.

Brienne must have sensed his gaze and opening her eyes, she turned her head to look at him. He gave her a sleepy smile and laid his chin on his arm. She rolled onto her side to face him and they lay like that for several moments, their eyes locked on each other. Brienne smiled wider which sent his heart leaping. Jaime loved it when she smiled full on. She spent so much of her time in total seriousness, and it meant everything to him that she showed this side of herself to only him.

He watched as she took one of her graceful hands and patted the space next to her. Jaime smiled seductively and slithered off the bed and crawled over to her. Stopping to look into her blue eyes, he leaned his head down and rubbed the tip of her nose with his. She giggled and lay down on her back again. He smiled and bent to place gentle kisses on her throat as she sighed softly and reached up to entangle her fingers in his hair. His beard tickled her and only made the moment more arousing to both of them. Jaime slowly lowered his body half onto her, wrapping his arms around her as he did. He continued his exploration of her neck and collarbones as she began to stroke his back with her other hand.

They both relished moments like this; soft and slow, with no words needed between them. They knew each other so well that at times there didn’t even need to be anything spoken out loud. Brienne slid her thigh under Jaime and nudged him over between her legs, where he settled himself into her hips. He was ready, but waited, savoring each kiss and caress between them.

Jaime marveled at the softness of Brienne. Not only her body, but her eyes, her hand movements, the way she spoke breathlessly to him in the dark when they were alone like this. Rather than his owner, Brienne was his protector, the keeper of his heart, which sometimes terrified him. Brienne was soft. Brienne was warm. Brienne’s caresses were tender. Jaime continued his slow ministrations on her neck and shoulders, smiling as her flesh prickled and at the soft moans that escaped her mouth.

Slowly kissing his way up to her left ear, he reached for her right hand and placed it flat against his chest. She felt the slow and steady beat of his heart. He paused and held still, and the only noise in the room was the crackle of the fire. Brienne turned her face into his and rubbed her cheek against his, his beard heightening the sensation of his breath against her ear. Jaime gently took her earlobe in between his teeth and squeezed her hand that he held against his chest.

“It’s yours,” he whispered. “It will always be yours.”

Brienne sighed as tears sprung to her eyes. Whenever he said those words to her, her heart leaped and she felt like she could glide above the earth. She half laughed and half sobbed, the tears flowing freely now. Jaime picked his head up and looked at her. Brienne smiled up at him through her tears as he made soothing sounds at her. His own tears had begun to appear at the corners of his eyes. Jaime had to admit he was afraid of the falling sensation he felt every time they got this close. Before it threatened to overtake him, he kissed Brienne fiercely, devouring her as if she would disappear. He clung to her as if he was drowning in the sea and she was his only lifeline.

The wind and the rain outside picked up, whistling softly against the windows. Brienne moved under Jaime, pushing her hips upwards into him, silently begging him. He smiled against her lips and pushed back against her with his rock hard need. She wrapped her long graceful legs around him and arched her back as he slowly entered her. She was still getting used to the feeling of coupling with him again. She was usually pleasantly sore by morning and she found she actually relished it. It made her feel every inch a woman, something that didn’t happen very often.

Jaime started a lazy rhythm with his hips while placing soft kisses on her face. He reached up with his left hand and began playing with the long tendrils of her blonde hair. He loved her hair when it was unkempt. It curled in such a way that made her look like such a free spirit, and when she smiled at him in that state, he melted. He continued his gentle thrusts as her hands roamed down to his backside to aid him. He raised his eyebrows and chuckled at her brazenness and kissed her again, taking her bottom lip in his teeth. Jaime loved that he had this effect on Brienne, and he loved seeing her let her guard down more and more each day.

 _Gods, her thighs are ridiculously strong._ Brienne squeezed him between her legs as her excitement escalated. It aroused Jaime even more and he buried himself into her as far as he could go. She wrapped one leg around his waist and moved the other one down to stroke the back of his calf with her foot.

They made love slowly, without a care in the world, wrapped around one another on the floor in front of the hearth. They lost themselves in the rhythm of Jaime’s gentle thrusts and the sound of the storm outside, and they both knew that they were finally exactly where they were meant to be.


	47. Brienne XXI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by SeeThemFlying

In the days after her wedding, Brienne was the happiest she had ever been. Jaime barely left her side; not in the Great Hall when she was meeting her people, not in her solar when she wrote letters back to Maester Basaol at Storm's End, and definitely not in their marital bed. Finally, the fear that one day she would wake up and he would be gone again started to ebb away.

It was also wonderful to be able to watch her father and Cora get to know one another, and Brienne was very sad that when she returned to Storm's End with her husband and their daughter, she could not take her father with him.

_I'll write,_ she told herself. _This time, I will visit and I will write. I have nothing to be ashamed of anymore._

It had been decided that the new Lord and Lady Lannister would only return to Storm's End once all the guests had left the island; it did not seem fair to leave that all on her father. However, in the coming days it seemed everyone was taking their own sweet time.

It took three days for Tyrion to announce he was ready to depart along with Temmen Bentbrook. They had heard news from King Bran concerning the weapons that Lord Buckler had been dealing in; whispers were that he had found new buyers in the Greyjoys with their dreams of independent Iron Islands.

"I am sorry," said Tyrion sadly when Jaime and Brienne went down to the docks with him to see him off. "I had wished to stay longer, but duty calls."

"It was wonderful to see you again, goodbrother," smiled Brienne. "Don't stay away too long this time."

Tyrion gave her a teasing grin. "I won't, although next time I visit I hope to be informed that Storm's End will be expecting a pitter-patter of tiny feet."

Jaime rolled his eyes. "We are not promising anything."

Tyrion folded his arms across his chest. "With all the scheming I did to get you two to see sense, I am practically owed a niece or nephew _and_ __ _you_ are going to name them after me."

"What? Even if it's a girl?" grinned Jaime.

"Even if it is a girl," said Tyrion in response.

Just at that moment, Lord Bentbrook walked past with a few servants, instructing them on how to load his and Lord Tyrion's baggage onto the ship. "Be careful!" he instructed, "there are delicate instruments in there!"

"Let me help," said Jaime, stepping across to shoulder one of the heavier looking trunks. "Where do you want this put, Lord Bentbrook?"

At that, the Master of Whisperers and the Lord of Storm's End went onto the awaiting ship to load up the baggage, leaving Brienne on the dock with Tyrion. She smiled at him. "Thank you."

He furrowed his brow, "what for?"

"For scheming. Without it... Jaime would never have come back to me and I would still think him a dead man who never loved me. So... thank you."

Tyrion stretched out his hand and Brienne took it in her own, squeezing it gently. "I am happy to oblige," he smiled. "Nothing pleases me more than making sure you two idiots are in love."

Brienne blushed. "We are not _idiots in love._ "

"You are," teased Tyrion. "I seem to recall I had to get us to play a stupid drinking game to get either of you to do anything about it in the first place."

Brienne blushed even harder. "Well..."

"Don't mistake me, Brienne," he said. "I am happy you are happy."

There was nothing else to say but "thank you".

*/*/*/*/*

Once Jaime and Brienne had waved Tyrion and Lord Bentbrook off from the docks, they walked back to Evenfall Hall hand in hand.

"Are we really going to call our first child Tyrion?" Jaime asked, "even if she is a girl?"

Brienne laughed. "It can go on the list for boys, but I am not having a daughter of mine called Tyrion. She will be bullied."

Jaime let out a breath of laughter at that. "What names do you like?"

"Old family ones. Arianne and Alysanne for my sisters. Joanna for your mother. Father has an old family tree back at Evenfall Hall; perhaps we could look there for inspiration."

"Yes," agreed Jaime. "That sounds a good idea."

Brienne took a moment to consider before she spoke again, not wanting to upset him. "And there is one more name."

"What?"

Her eyes went a little misty as she said, "Catelyn."

The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. "The woman you swore your sword to."

She squeezed his hand. "The woman who brought us together in that squalid little dungeon all those years ago."

Jaime laughed at the memory. "Oh yes. What a romantic moment."

"I believe your first words to me were: _is that a woman?_ "

He kissed her on the cheek. "I was just checking."

*/*/*/*

The day after Tyrion left, Lady Ermesande Hayford and her family left, along with Tyrek Lannister. Brienne made sure to personally escort them down to the docks, if only so she could keep an eye on her former betrothed. Part of her expected him to try and stage an escape, but instead he just silently rode on his horse, looking a little rueful, only talking and smiling when Lady Ermesande drew him into conversation.

Once the Hayfords were all aboard the ship, Brienne pulled Tyrek to one side. "I trust you will be on your best behaviour while you are at the Hayfords. I want to hear not a whisper of you trying to stir up the old Lannister cause, or writing to _her,_ do you hear me?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Tyrek smirked, in a way that reminded her of the two-handed Jaime she had kicked through the Riverlands tied to a leash. Perhaps it was up to someone else to help him find his redemption.

"Good," she said tightly. "Lord Jaime and I will endeavour to visit once we are back on the mainland to check your good progress."

He gave her a little bow, which she would have thought respectful if she did not know better. "I look forward to it."

Without another word, Tyrek Lannister followed his wife and her family onto the ship, and Brienne felt her stomach drop slightly. She knew she could never quite sleep comfortably while Tyrek still dreamed of the Lannister lions. From the deck he gave her a jaunty little wave and one of his beautiful smiles.

"Lady Brienne!" he called.

"Yes?" she replied stiffly.

"Say hello to the Queen in the North for me. I did not get a chance at the wedding."

*/*/*/*

After Tyrek's departure, there was only one important guest left at Evenfall Hall.

Sansa.

Brienne had spoken to her several times since she arrived - thanked her for the wedding cloak, asked about the North, if she had heard from Arya and Gendry - but not about anything important. Not about Tyrek.

The conversation finally happened the following evening when Sansa asked Brienne to come for a walk with her. She was leaving the following day and wanted some time alone with her former sworn sword. Although Jaime had complained that it would mean his new wife was late to their bed that evening, Brienne had just given him a shove, told him to be patient, and agreed to go for a walk.

They ended up on a hill overlooking Evenfall Hall. It was an incredibly wonderful sight.

"The North is beautiful," said Sansa, looking down at the rolling green and the endless blue of the sea, "but in a different way to this."

"Yes," agreed Brienne, "but it is a lot warmer here. Jaime definitely prefers it."

Sansa laughed. "Well, in spite of his fearsome reputation, it appears the Kingslayer is nothing more than a well-trained housecat."

Brienne suddenly felt a little wounded on Jaime's behalf. "Don't call him that."

"What? A well-trained housecat?"

"No. _The Kingslayer."_

Sansa raised her eyebrows. "That's what he is, isn't he? Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Man without Honour. And on top of all that, he still left you in the snow at Winterfell and I... have a great deal of trouble forgiving him for that."

Brienne grasped Sansa's wrist. "I don't."

"That's because you are in love," replied Sansa.

"No," said Brienne honestly. "It's because I made a choice. I could spend my whole life carrying round the anger and bitterness I felt after he left me, or I could choose to see that he regretted what he did and at heart he still loves me, that he wants to be better."

Sansa's expression was a little tight. "I still think you could do better."

Brienne sighed. "Is that why you sent Tyrek Lannister to me?"

Sansa snapped her head round. "Tyrek Lannister?"

"Ser Byron the Beautiful."

Sansa's eyes went wide in shock. "I had no idea he was Tyrek Lannister! I just thought..."

"What?"

Now it was Sansa's turn to sigh. "I just thought he was a golden-haired, green-eyed man with a passing resemblance to the Kingslayer... oh, alright _Jaime._ I could see how sad you still were all those years after he left and I wanted to make you happy. I thought the attentions of a pretty young man might be a nice distraction. I told him not to take it too far, I told him..."

"He ignored your orders," said Brienne distantly.

Sansa's face went red. "I know and I am sorry for that. It was a stupid plan. A stupid decision. I just wanted to help you and I did not know how. Everything else I did seemed to have no effect."

Brienne put a hand on Sansa's shoulder, knowing her young friend had only wanted the best for her. "You can help me now by accepting Jaime is my husband. I love him with all my heart and... I don't want there to be any more animosity. I just want peace. Can you do that for me?"

Sansa looked out at the sea once more, watching it shine in the evening light. "Of course I can," she said firmly, "just as long as he treats you like a goddess."

Brienne's thoughts turned to her husband, who was probably at this moment lying in their bed anticipating her return. She felt a swell of affection for him.

"Oh, don't worry. He does."


	48. Cersei I

Cersei stumbled over a rock. “It’s important to get up now,” she told herself. “You need to find the babies. Four babies...why would they wander away from Mother? They can’t count on their father, or the king… I am their mother.”

…

Her father stood in the middle of a plowed field. The crops grew up around him as she watched, 

Jaime wore a blue cloak around his shoulders. The two men spoke to each other but she couldn’t make out their words. Jaime gestured with both hands, Tywin would offer a quick nod, or a gesture of his own. It looked like some kind of game.

Neither would speak to her, even when she screamed.

….

There was Marcella, sitting on a fallen tree, in the middle of the grey wasteland of stones. The cold breeze was whipping her blonde curls and bright yellow cloth of her skirt. Her arms were full of yellow flowers, huge and lush, from some impossible summer. “I am not a piece on your chess board,” she said. “I am not one of your fingers, I am not one of your jewels.”

“Help me,” said Cersei. “I’m alone.”

“Have you ever helped anyone else?” asked Marcella. Her head tilted and her green eyes narrowed. 

The girl turned her back, and took a few steps, and there were just the rounded stones of a dry river bottom, and the sound of the wind.

…

The ring of hammer against anvil stopped as Cersei approached. The man’s soot-stained hands pushed something back into the flames of the forge, and he set the tongs on the anvil.

“Have you seen my children?” she asked. The young man (why did he have Robert’s blue eyes?) still held the hammer.

“Do you know,” he asked, “How long will it take the stonemasons of King’s Landing to rebuild what you have destroyed?”

“Those were Daenery’s dragons, not mine!”

“There is a thing called peace, have you heard of it?” He turned away, lifted the tongs and pulled hot orange metal from the yellow glow of the forge. 

His hammer rang against the anvil, and he would not listen to her pleas.

….

Cersei was tired of walking barefoot over stones. She turned towards a keep made of translucent gray stone. 

The Lady Brienne’s feet were bare against the marble. She held a sleeping child against her shoulder, with its tiny hand clutching folds of her red dress. 

“Have you seen my babies?” demanded Cersei. 

“If they were really yours, would you have sold them?” The Lady eyed her suspiciously. “The Mother will protect them all.”

The child turned her blonde head to gaze at her. It was Cora.

“Give me back my daughter!” Cersei reached out.

  
  
  


Cersei sat up in her bed. Her head ached, and her mouth was foul from last night’s wine. Cora was gone, and her dreams were filled with scolding. Even meek Lady Brienne, who wore a sword and men’s breeches, was not herself in the dream. She had been wearing the red of the Mother, and looking at her with scorn.

The fine covers and the carved bed were lovely, but that was nothing when she really wanted a sympathetic maid to bring her water and herbs for the hangover.

She put her feet on the floor, and waited for the room to stop spinning around her. Even Jaime would be an improvement. He would frown at her, but he would keep Cora with him, and there would be porridge later on in the morning when she could cope with food.

Cersei examined her dresses, hung on a row of pegs high on the wall. The green silk had been selected especially to match her eyes, and she felt like she needed a show of beauty and power. She pulled it on, settled the bodice over her shoulders, and tugged the laces closed.

A glance in the mirror told her that the black dye in her hair was growing out. Light-colored roots showed at her hairline. She remembered the gray in Jaime’s blond mane, and wondered if hers would be the same when the dye grew out. 

The fire in the kitchen hearth was out. Jaime was so much better at managing the fire, even if he couldn’t start one to save his life. She remembered when the two of them were young, and had been allowed small adventures together. Cersei had always send him off to find wood, and she had the touch with the flint and steel to set things alight. 

Today, the tinder was not bending to her will. The flint brought sparks from the steel, but nothing caught. “Smith take it!” she said, and threw down the steel and the flint.

Today, she absolutely must find some new servants. It was not proper that a queen should have to cook her own porridge, or sweep her own floor. Also, she wasn’t very good at it. Her kitchen had been much more tidy when it had been Jaime’s job, with help from that stupid girl, Verra.

The kitchen felt too small for all her anger, so Cersei opened the door out into the little courtyard garden. The hinges creaked with the effort, and her head twinged in sympathy. 

The sky was grey overhead, and low clouds blew by, as if to carry messages from one of the Seven to another.

Cersei remembered when they came to the city and taken this house, Jaime had planted herbs, and a few rows of vegetables. When Cora grew, she wanted to help her father, and she’d often come in with her hands and dress as dirty as any commoner’s. 

No one had touched the plants for weeks. Some had withered into dry stalks, and a few hardy ones were expanding their control like a triumphant army. A gardener was needed. How much did a gardener cost in Pentos?

It seemed that if Cersei wanted to eat today, she’d have to dig. There was a small spade leaning next to the back door. She had two hands, she could do better than her useless brother.

After some effort, she had a small potato, something that looked like a carrot, and a thing that might be a turnip. The only herb she had been able to identify was mint.

She looked down at her dress, and the dirt that clung to it. She tried to brush it away, but the dirt on her hands only smudged it further. 

“This is not right!” she muttered to herself.

She was a queen. She would stand like one.

She straightened her spine, and pushed her dark curls back over her shoulder.

“As the Gods are my witness, I’ll never be hungry again!” She shook her fist at the clouds.

The rain started, and Cersei retreated to her kitchen. She scrubbed her hands clean, and went up the stairs to find the paper, pens, and ink that Jaime had left behind when he’d run away.

  


> _My dear brother Jaime,_
> 
> _I am lost without you. How am I not enough for you?_
> 
> _You and I both know that we can only depend on family, and that Tarth girl isn’t one of us. She isn’t family, and she won’t have the patience with you that I do. I know that bedding her is new and thrilling, but that will wear off. She will never be to you the way I am._
> 
> _Our house is empty and cold without you and our lovely Cora._
> 
> _Please come back._
> 
> _I need you._
> 
> _You are my other half._
> 
> _Cersei_
> 
>   
>    
> 

She folded the page neatly, and melted golden wax to imprint her seal. 

Tomorrow she would write to Tyrion. He’d send gold, she’d be able to make her plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My head canon about the Seven! They have associated colors. Red is for the Mother. Orange is the Smith, and the glowing coals in his forge. Yellow is for the Maiden. Green is the Father (who is in charge of farmers as well, based on seed metaphors). Blue is the Warrior, I’m sure there is a great reason why. Violet is associated with the Crone. The Stranger is the absence of color.
> 
> The Father (in the shape of Tywin) and the Warrior (in the shape of Jaime) are playing the Westroi equivalent of “rock paper scissors” to determine who gets the souls of farmers that become soldiers, or soldiers who become farmers.


	49. Jaime XX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by SeeThemFlying

Things had been a little bit stressful at Storm's End ever since Maester Basaol had stormed out in a fit of pique.

"I will not be treated this way!" he had fumed, even as the servants had hurried to get his belongings together for his journey back to Oldtown. "My advice is ignored, I am actively mocked, and everybody apparently finds it funny when the Kingslayer's bastard throws a blood orange at me!"

Well... if he had not gone of his own accord Jaime would have thrown him out. Or punched him. It was one thing to criticise him and Brienne - they were adults who could argue back, after all - but not Cora. And to call her _the Kingslayer's bastard..._ it was too much.

However, the Maester's absence meant that there was nobody to do much of the administration that running the Stormlands required and the Citadel was being very reticent at sending a replacement. At first, Brienne had shouldered the responsibility all herself - honourable as she was - refusing Jaime's help when he offered. It made him feel a little bit useless at first, but then he remembered that she had still trusted him to be Master at Arms, so threw himself into that job with enthusiasm.

On the day that the letter came, however, he had gone into her solar to find her staring down at a massive pile of papers. "My love," he had said, squeezing her shoulder while placing a kiss on the top of her head, "why don't you take a break? You look quite pale. I hear that the nurse has taken Cora for a walk along the battlements. Why don't we go and join her?"

At his touch, Brienne had shoved the parchment she was reading under the accounts book, her cheeks reddening. "I am fine, Jaime. I need to get some work done."

Furrowing his brow, Jaime reached across and pushed the accounts book aside, revealing the bit of parchment she had tried to hide. In her firm grip, it had become a little crumpled. "What is this?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," she replied, trying to cover it once again with the book. "It's nothing important."

Jaime could tell by the way her shoulders tightened and her face became possessed by barely suppressed tension that it wasn't _nothing._ Consequently, he leaned down, so his head was level with hers, and then turned her to face him. "If it's nothing important, why don't you show me?"

Brienne sighed before reaching under the accounts book and pulling out the scrap of parchment. "It's a letter," she said, her voice quiet, "from... _her._ "

Taking it from his wife hand, Jaime scanned the missive, instantly recognising his sister's hand. _I am lost without you... that Tarth girl isn't one of us... bedding her is new and thrilling... she will never be to you the way I am... our house is empty... Please come back... I need you... you are my other half... Cersei._ Once, his heart would have skipped at such an entreaty, especially if he was separated from his twin like they currently were. But now? Her message danced over Jaime like a stone being skimmed on a lake.

As he read the letter, Brienne leant over the desk to reach for another piece of parchment and quill. Not letting go of her tension, she nevertheless sat up to her full height to put on the fearless mask she often wore for the world. Dipping the nib of the quill in a pot of ink, she said, "how do you want to respond? You can dictate it to me if it pleases you."

"Do you want to own my words, wench?" he smiled, touched that she wanted some hand in his response to his sister. Jaime's amusement ended when she turned to look at him, however, because he was horrified to see that Brienne, his wife, his beloved, looked immensely sad.

"Of course not," she said, her voice quiet, "your voice is your own. It is just I know you will want to answer your sister and... I know... it is sometimes hard for you to write. Whatever you want to say... I'll help you, because I know that even after everything, she's your twin and she means something to you... and you'll want to say something with feeling."

Jaime would have laughed if Brienne's expression wasn't so serious and if he wasn't feeling so ashamed of himself. He knew would never be able to totally erase that night he left her at Winterfell; if he ever went somewhere without telling her, or lingered away from her for an extra few days for business, Brienne would always get slightly anxious about whether this was the time he left her again... for good.

Although that sometimes worried him, Jaime thought it was manageable, because they could work on her fears together and he would spend the rest of his life showing her that this was forever.

Taking Cersei's letter out of her hands, he crossed the room to the fire.

"What are you doing?" squawked Brienne as she got to her feet, dropping the quill on the table which sent ink splattering across her jerkin. She did not seem to notice, however, because her eyes were entirely for her lord husband.

Jaime smiled at her. "What it looks like I am doing," he said casually, throwing Cersei's letter into the fire. "Burning it."

Brienne's eyes were wide. "But how will you know what to write back?"

His wench had always been so intensely surprised that any man would love her, that in moments of doubt she always retreated to those feelings. It would not do to have her feel like that, however, so Jaime walked towards her, took her hand in his and then drew it to his lips for a kiss. "I don't need to respond."

Her eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline. "No?"

"No," he conceded. "And neither do I want to. I was miserable with Cersei in Pentos and every day I dreamt of how my life would have been different if I had followed your orders and stayed with you."

Brienne's eyes were a little moist. "You did?" she said, tentatively.

"Of course," he replied, drawing her hand flat against his chest. Without words, he told her _it's yours, it's always yours._ Jaime knew she accepted it in her heart of hearts, but it would not hurt to reassure her.

"But she says you are her other half... that I will never be to you what she is..."

Jaime huffed. "She is not my other half because _I_ am not half a person. You taught me that I am whole on my own, and I do not need my twin filling in the gaps, because there _are_ no gaps. I am just Jaime, a man who cannot be completed by a woman, because I am complete."

"You are," she insisted drawing closer, "wonderfully whole, Jaime... _my_ Jaime."

Lifting his stump, Jaime stroked her cheek and he was gratified to find that she leant into his touch. Brienne's loveliness had always been in her softness, her kindness, and even if Cersei was the most beautiful woman in the world, she could never outshine the light that Brienne radiated from within.

"I cannot be completed," conceded Jaime, "but I can be _complemented_. You are not what she was to me because you are more... you are better. And don't you think we complement each other, wench?"

Brienne smiled, even as a solitary tear escaped down her cheek. "Yes, Jaime, I believe we do."

Letting go of her hand, he hooked his arm around hers and then pecked her on the cheek. "Come on then, my love. No more sadness. Let's go for a walk along the battlements. I will not have you fretting inside a moment longer."

She grinned at him and Jaime saw all the stars. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, my love."

And so, the Lord and Lady of the Stormlands left the solar, walking out onto the battlements and into the rest of their lives.


	50. Epilogue - Cora I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little peek into the future...
> 
> Written by Meriwyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow...so, here we are at the end. Thank you all SO, SO MUCH for following along with us on this little crazy journey. I know I personally have had a great time bringing you all this tale, and I'm sure my fellow authors have as well. We hope you enjoyed it as much as we enjoyed writing it. Hopefully we'll see you all again for another story in the future <3

**TARTH – TEN YEARS LATER**

_I really like it here._

Thirteen-year-old Cora Lannister of Tarth had visited her mother’s island home many times, but she never grew tired of it. It always amazed her how peaceful it was. No matter what one’s cares may be, once you arrived on Tarth, everything was swept away and an overwhelming feeling of tranquility took over.

Cora stood on the terrace outside of Evenfall Hall, overlooking the sea and the white sand beach below. Closing her eyes, she let the breezes lift her golden curls from her shoulders as she listened to the white gulls cry to each other out over the water.

_Yes…I really do like it here._

Despite her early tumultuous years under the thumb of Cersei Lannister, Cora had spent her formative years happy and thriving under Brienne and Jaime’s care. She loved them both with her entire heart, and had especially taken to Brienne, and considered her every inch her real mother. In fact, the doll that Cora had had Brienne carry on her wedding day now sat on Brienne’s desk in her solar.

As Cora had wished from the time she first met Brienne, she had begun training in the yard to be a warrior and hopefully someday, a knight. Brienne saw great promise in her, as it seemed she at least inherited Jaime’s ferocity for knowledge in battle prowess.

She also seemed to have remotely inherited Brienne’s sense of honor and fairness, at least simply by being around her so much. Cora was known around Storm’s End as gentle, kind, inclusive, and possessing a wonderful laugh that people immediately warmed to.

She was known around Tarth as well, since the family visited as often as they could. The fact that Tarth was close to Storm’s End helped tremendously, and the Lannister brood was able to travel back and forth between their two homes quite easily and often.

Their lives had been relatively peaceful since Jaime and Brienne had been married. For Brienne, there were the usual annoyances that came with running a region and dealing with daily problems and issues between minor houses within the Stormlands. Jaime had begun married life filling in as the maester at arms like he had promised, but eventually they had found a suitable replacement and Jaime had been able to step fully into his role as Lord of Storm’s End by Brienne’s side. He still left most of the ruling to his wife, however, not wanting to overshadow her or take away her authority.

Every two or three years, letters would come from Cersei. They were always full of desperation and need and begging, but Jaime continued to burn them whenever they would arrive. Tyrion also made good on his promise and kept Cersei at bay, and she never crossed the Narrow Sea again. She was still rather persistent with her letters, but she never again managed to cause any harm.

Cora had also found a very unlikely penpal in Tyrek Lannister. He had actually settled in to life with Lady Ermesande at Castle Hayford. As he had promised Brienne, he had cut all contact with Cersei as well. Tyrek had written to Cora shortly after they had parted all those years ago to apologize to her. When she asked Brienne and Jaime if they would write back to him for her since she had only been three years old at the time, they had obliged her, and over the years they had actually become friends and kept each other abreast of what was happening in their lives.

“Good afternoon, granddaughter,” Selwyn Tarth’s voice broke Cora from her quiet meditations. She turned to see him walking towards her, carrying a large picnic basket, his smile bright from behind his thick white beard. Cora’s face lit up.

“Hello, grandpapa,” she walked to him and hugged him around his waist. He kissed her on the top of her head.

Selwyn looked around. “Looks like we’re the only ones on time again,” he laughed his deep, rich laugh that always made Cora giggle.

“You know what it’s like getting that brood together at the same time,” Cora chuckled and rolled her eyes.

Selwyn put his arm around Cora’s shoulders and they walked over to sit on the low stone wall that ringed the terrace.

“How are you doing with adjusting to all of them?” He asked her.

Cora smiled. “They’re all a handful, that’s for sure, but I love them all and they all treat me like one of them, which I suppose in all reality I am.”

“You most certainly are,” Selwyn said. “And don’t you forget it. They’ll all look to you as the eldest for advice and help and to keep their confidences later on in life.”

“Which I will happily do,” Cora said.

Two young blonde girls came running outside. Nine-year-old Joanna Lannister launched herself at Cora, throwing her arms around her. Eight-year-old Brynna Lannister, more refined, walked over to her grandfather and hugged him gently.

“Hello, Joanna,” Cora said, squeezing her half-sister in a tight embrace, making Joanna giggle.

“Hello, grandpapa,” Brynna said to Selwyn, smiling up at him.

“Hello, my darling, and how are you this fine day? Looking forward to our picnic?”

“Oh yes, very much,” Brynna said, sitting daintily next to him on the wall.

The girls were soon followed by Jaime, who was carrying one of his and Brienne’s three-year-old twins, Arianne, while the other, Alysanne, held tightly to his hand. Once he was outside, he turned to look behind him just in time for six-year-old Galladon and five-year-old Selwyn to run by him, carrying large blankets.

Finally, Brienne came outside, carrying one-year-old Arthur in her arms.

“Like you said, my darling Cora,” Selwyn muttered to her. “They’re quite the handful.”

Cora looked at him and merely nodded and smiled.

“Hello, my starlight,” Selwyn said to Brienne.

“Hello, father,” she smiled at him. Selwyn held out his arms.

“Let me hold my grandson,” he smiled. Brienne gently placed the sleeping Arthur in his grandfather’s arms. She gently ran her finger down Arthur’s soft cheek and kissed the white-blonde fuzz on his head.

“Thank you, father, hold onto him while I set everything up.”

“Gall, Sel, stop fooling around and spread those blankets out on the ground please,” Jaime called to his other sons, who were currently running around after each other. Putting Arianne down, he set about helping Brienne unpack the food.

Arianne and Alysanne both climbed up on the wall and moved to sit on either side of Cora. Arianne leaned into her while Alysanne stood up behind Cora and hugged her around the neck.

“Hello, my darlings,” Cora said, giving them each a kiss. Draped in three of her sisters, Cora looked at Brienne. “Do you need any help, Mumma?”

Brienne smiled at her. “No, my love, you look like you have your hands rather full already.”

Cora laughed. “Yes, quite.”

Jaime and Brienne set the picnic out on the large blankets that the boys had put down, and the entire family took their places in a large circle. Alysanne and Arianne stayed attached to Cora while Selwyn handed Arthur back to Brienne.

Arthur yawned and flailed his little arms around while Brienne made soft noises at him. Jaime looked over at them and smiled, his eyes soft.

“Mumma, can we go swimming after lunch?” the younger Selwyn asked.

“Yes, my love,” she answered him, then shook her head. “I swear you’re really a fish, Sel, always wanting to be in the water.”

“Maybe Papa will play the shark game with us!” Alysanne giggled.

“Oh yes, Papa, please!” Arianne joined her twin in begging.

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Oh, alright, if you insist.”

“As if you could refuse any of them anything,” Brienne muttered, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

“What can I say?” Jaime said. “They walk all over me.”

“Only because you let them,” Brienne teased him.

“Yes, well, one stern parent is enough I think,” he winked at her. Brienne scowled back at him. Arthur gurgled and cooed and squirmed in her arms. Brienne smiled and gasped at him.

“Except _you_ ,” she placed a loud kiss on Arthur’s cheek, making him squeal and kick his legs. “You I would do _anything_ for, isn’t that right, my little love? Yes, yes it is.” She took one of Arthur’s hands and pretended to chew on it. “Oh my goodness, I could just eat you up, yes I could!”

Jaime laughed at her. “Now, now, love, no playing favorites.”

Brienne looked at him. “I know, love, but look at this little angel,” she held him up in front of her face. Arthur smiled and flailed his limbs, looking back at his mother with eyes just like hers. Brienne smiled and made kissing noises against his belly. Arthur shriek-laughed again.

Cora laughed and looked around her. Galladon and Selwyn were preoccupied with seeing who could eat more pickles, Brynna was busy telling her grandfather about the latest musical instrument she had learned, while Joanna watched her mother play with her youngest brother. Jaime just looked on, completely besotted with the entire crew. He reached out and pulled Joanna against him, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

Cora put an arm around each of the twins and hugged them close to her. Looking around at her family, her eyes came to rest on her father. Jaime looked back at her and the two shared a silent moment where they merely smiled at each other.

While she loved Brienne and her brothers and sisters, Jaime had been with her from day one. He had saved her from their horrible life with Cersei, and had brought her into this new family…one she loved with all her heart and was proud to be a part of. All of the people she loved most in the world, minus Uncle Tyrion, were here in one place, and Cora knew at that moment, that that was exactly where she was meant to be.


End file.
